hat
bwead."

"O-o-oh! tat iss not _mine_ prate," exclaimed the baker. "Tat iss not
fun mine etsteplitchmendt. Oh, no! Tatt iss te prate--I'm yoost dtellin'
you--tat iss te prate fun tat fellah py teh Sunk-Mary's Morrikit-house!
Tat's teh 'shteam prate'. I to-undt know for vot effrapotty puys tat
prate annahow! Ovver you yoost vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!"

"Mr. Bison," said Narcisse, "Mr. Bison,"--he had been trying to stop
him and get in a word of his own, but could not,--"I don't know if
you--Mr.--Mr. Bison, in fact, you din unde'stood me. Can that be
poss'ble that you din notiz that I was speaking in my i'ony about that
bwead? Why, of co'se! Thass juz my i'onious cuztom, Mr. Bison. Thass one
thing I dunno if you 'ave notiz about that 'steam bwead,' Mr. Bison, but
with me that bwead always stick in my th'oat; an' yet I kin swallow mose
anything, in fact. No, Mr. Bison, yo' bwead is deztyned to be the bwead;
and I tell you how 'tis with me, I juz gladly eat yo' bwead eve'y time I
kin git it! Mr. Bison, in fact you don't know me ve'y in_tim_itly, but
you will oblige me ve'y much indeed to baw me five dollahs till
tomaw--save me fum d'awing a check!"

The German thrust his hand slowly and deeply into his pocket. "I alvayss
like to oplyche a yendleman,"--he smiled benignly, drew out a toothpick,
and added,--"ovver I nivveh bporrah or lend to ennabodda."

"An' then," said Narcisse, promptly, "'tis imposs'ble faw anybody to be
offended. Thass the bess way, Mr. Bison."

"Yayss," said the baker, "I tink udt iss." As they were parting, he
added: "Ovver you vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!"

"I'll do it, seh!-- And, Mr. Bison, you muzn't think anything
about that, my not bawing that five dollars fum you, Mr. Bison, because
that don't make a bit o' dif'ence; an' thass one thing I like about you,
Mr. Bison, you don't baw yo' money to eve'y Dick, Tom, an' Hawwy, do
you?"

"No, I dtoandt. Ovver, you yoost vait"--

And certainly, after many vexations, difficulties, and delays, that
took many a pound of flesh from Reisen's form, the pretty, pale-brown,
fragrant white loaves of "aerated bread" that issued from the Star
Bakery in Benjamin street were something pleasant to see, though they
did not lower the price.

Richling's old liking for mechanical apparatus came into play. He only,
in the establishment, thoroughly understood the new process, and could
be certain of daily, or rather nightly, uniform results. He even ma