the front shop was crowded. It was not easy to elbow
one's way through the packed little space. Men and women
were ordering recklessly of the cakes of every
description that were heaped in cases and on shelves.

Cakes! What a pale; dry name to apply to those
crumbling, melting, indigestible German
confections! Blackie grinned with enjoyment while I
gazed. There were cakes the like of which I had never
seen and of which I did not even know the names. There
were little round cup cakes made of almond paste that
melts in the mouth; there were Schnecken glazed with a
delicious candied brown sugar; there were Bismarcks
composed of layer upon layer of flaky crust inlaid with
an oozy custard that evades the eager consumer at the
first bite, and that slides down one's collar when chased
with a pursuing tongue. There were Pfeffernusse; there,
were Lebkuchen; there were cheese-kuchen; plum-kuchen,
peach-kuchen, Apfelkuchen, the juicy fruit stuck thickly
into the crust, the whole dusted over with powdered
sugar. There were Torten, and Hornchen, and butter
cookies.

Blackie touched my arm, and I tore my gaze from a
cherry-studded Schaumtorte that was being reverently
packed for delivery.

"My, what a greedy girl! Now get your mind all made
up. This is your chance. You know you're supposed t'
take a slant at th' things an' make up your mind w'at you