While,
with mathematical precision, he takes off his gloves, he peers over
his dim spectacles, first to the right, then to the left, to find out
whether any of his acquaintances are present. Then he hangs up his
overcoat on its special hook, the one to the right of the fireplace.
Gustav, the waiter, an old pupil of his, flies to his table and,
without waiting for an order, brushes the crumbs off the tablecloth,
stirs up the mustard, smooths the salt in the salt-cellar and turns
over the dinner napkin. Then he fetches, still without any order, a
bottle of Medhamra, opens half a bottle of Union beer and, merely for
appearance sake, hands the schoolmaster the bill of fare.
"Crabs?" he asks, more as a matter of form than because there is any
need of the question.
"Female crabs," answers the schoolmaster.
"Large, female crabs," repeats Gustav, walks to the speaking tube
which communicates with the kitchen, and shouts: "Large female crabs
for Mr. Blom, and plenty of dill."
He fetches butter and cheese, cuts two very thin slices of rye-bread,
and places them on the schoolmaster's table. The latter has in the
meantime searched the verandah for the evening papers, but has only
found the official _Post_.
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