"Smoke!" Then he sniffed the air and clasped his nose between
forefinger and thumb. "Smoke! Smoke ef'rywhere. Smoke in your
insites." He tapped his chest. "Smoke in your lunks!"
"Oh! SMOKE!" Sheridan cried with gusto, drawing in a deep breath
and patently finding it delicious. "You BET we got smoke!"
"Exbensif!" said Herr Favre. "Ruins foliage; ruins fabrics. Maybe
in summer it iss not so bad, but I wonder your wifes will bear it."
Sheridan laughed uproariously. "They know it means new spring hats
for 'em!"
"They must need many, too!" said the visitor. "New hats, new all
things, but nothing white. In Munchen we could not do it; we are
a safing peeble."
"Where's that?"
"In Munchen. You say 'Munich.'"
"Well, I never been to Munich, but I took in the Mediterranean trip,
and I tell you, outside o' some right good scenery, all I saw was
mighty dirty and mighty shiftless and mighty run-down at the heel.
Now comin' right down TO it, Mr. Farver, wouldn't you rather live here
in this town than in Munich? I know you got more enterprise up there
than the part of the old country I saw, and I know YOU'RE a live
business man and you're associated with others like you, but when it
comes to LIVIN' in a place, wouldn't you heap rather be here than over
there?"
"For me," said Herr Favre, "no.
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