And the memory flashed upon him of a little barmaid at a beer-house, whom he had walked home with one evening, and seen again from time to time.
So once more he rose, to go and drink a bock with the girl.

What should he say to her?
What would she say to him?
Nothing, probably.

But what did that matter?
He would hold her hand for a few seconds.

She seemed to have a fancy for him.

Why, then, did he not go to see her oftener?
He found her dozing on a chair in the beer-shop, which was almost deserted.