MEN WITHOUT WOMEN
“You wouldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t believe what just happened about that one.”
“Tell me.”
“You wouldn’t believe it.” The innkeeper spoke to the sexton. “Franz, come over here.” The sexton came, bringing his little bottle of wine and his glass.
“The gentlemen are just come down from the Wiesbadenerhütte,” the innkeeper said. We shook hands.
“What will you drink?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Franz shook his finger.
“Another quarter litre?”
“All right.”
“Do you understand dialect?” the innkeeper asked.
“No.”
“What’s it all about?” John asked.
“He’s going to tell us about the peasant we saw filling the grave, coming into town.”
“I can’t understand it, anyway,” John said. “It goes too fast for me.”
“That peasant,” the innkeeper said, “to-day he brought his wife in to be buried. She died last November.”
“December,” said the sexton.
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