Mr.Keller, detesting tobacco in all its forms, and taking no sort of interest in horticulture, submitted to the fumes of Mr.Engelman's pipe, and passed hours in Mr.
Engelman's garden without knowing the names of nine-tenths of the flowers that grew in it.

There are still such men to be found in Germany and in England; but, oh! dear me, the older I get the fewer I find there are of them.
The two old friends and partners were waiting for me to join them at their early German supper.

Specimens of Mr.Engelman's flowers adorned the table in honor of my arrival.

He presented me with a rose from the nosegay when I entered the room.
"And how did you leave dear Mrs.Wagner ?" he inquired.
"And how is my boy Fritz ?" asked Mr.Keller.
I answered in terms which satisfied them both, and the supper proceeded gaily.

But when the table was cleared, and Mr.Engelman had lit his pipe, and I had kept him company with a cigar, then Mr.Keller put the fatal question.