"Oh, come on, now," said Furst as he poured out the coffee. "That's
hardly fair. She's not so young as she might be, it's true, but no one
can hold a candle to her still. Lulu is Lulu."

"Ten minutes before the registrar," continued Krafft, meditatively
shaking his head. "And for the rest of life, chains. And convention.
And security, which stales. And custom, which satiates. Oh no, I am
not for matrimony!"

Schilsky's ill-humour evaporated in a peal of boisterous laughter.
"Yes, and tell us why, chaste Joseph, tell us why," he cried, throwing
a brush at his friend. "Or go to the devil--where you're at home."

Krafft warded off the brush. "Look here," he said, "confess. Have you
kissed another girl for months? Have you had a single billet-doux?"

But Schilsky only winked provokingly. Having finished laughing, he
said with emphasis: "But after Lulu, they are all tame. Lulu is Lulu,
and that's the beginning and end of the matter."

"Exactly my opinion," said Furst. "And yet, boys, if I wanted
to make your mouths water, I could." He closed one eye and smacked his
lips. "I know of something--something young and blond . . . and dimpled
. . . and round, round as a feather-pillow"--he made descriptive
movements of the hand--"with a neck, boys, a neck, I say----" Here in
sheer ecstasy, he stuck fast, and could get no further.

Schilsky roared anew. "He knows of something . . . so he does," he
cried--Furst's pronounced tastes were a standing joke among them.
"Show her to us, old man, show her to us! Where are you hiding her? If