Три товарища

           Lenzeyedtherowofbottlescovetously."Whatdoyousaytocrackingone,Otto?"

           "That’sforBob,notforme,tosay,"saidKöster."Youknow,Gottfried,it’snotpolitetomakeagiftandthenthrowoffhintslikeahowitzer."

           "Stilllessisitpolitetoletabenefactordieofthirst,"retortedLenz,drawingacork.

           Thesmellfilledthewholeplace.

           "HolyMother!"exclaimedGottfried.

           Weallsniffed.

           "Fantastic,Otto!Outsidethepoets,therearenotwordstodescribeit."

           "It’stoogoodforthismurkyhole,"saidLenz."I’veanidea....Let’sgoandhavesupperinthecountrysomewhereandtakethebottleswithus.WecanfinishthemoffinGod’sgreatout-of-doors."

           "Excellent!"

           WeshovedasidetheCadillaconwhichwehadbeenworkingallafternoon,anddisclosedbehinditaqueer-lookingobjectonfourwheels:OttoKöster’sracingcar—theprideoftheworkshop.

           Kösterhadboughtthecar,atop-heavyoldbus,atanauctionfornexttonothing.Connoisseurswhosawitatthetimepronounceditwithouthesitationaninterestingspecimenforatransportmuseum.Bollwies,wholesalemanufacturerofladies’ready-madedressesandincidentallyaspeedway