The tears that cannot be shed
were in her voice, in her face, as she stood there, with her
violet-gray eyes straining into vacancy. But the men and the
women shed tears; and when she moved, breaking the spell of
silence, they not only applauded, they cheered.
The news quickly spread that at Lange's there was a girl singer
worth hearing and still more worth looking at. And Lange had
his opportunity to arrive.
But several things stood in his way, things a man of far more
intelligence would have found it hard to overcome.
Like nearly all saloon-keepers, he was serf to a brewery; and
the particular brewery whose beer his mortgage compelled
him to push did not make a beer that could be pushed. People
complained that it had a disagreeably bitter aftertaste. In
the second place, Mrs. Lange was a born sitter. She had
married to rest--and she was resting. She was always piled
upon a chair. Thus, she was not an aid but a hindrance, an
encourager of the help in laziness and slovenliness. Again,
the cooking was distinctly bad; the only really good thing the
house served was coffee, and that was good only in the
mornings. Finally, Lange was a saver by nature and not a
spreader. He could hold tightly to any money he closed his
stubby fingers upon; he did not know how to plant money and
make it grow, but only how to hoard.
Thus it came to pass that, after the first spurt, the business
fell back to about where it had been before Susan came.
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