“No,” said Franz, “I won’t eat a roll and drink water; I must have my breakfast and coffee; you can drink water, a bucket full if you choose.  My father does not wish us to go hungry on this journey.  But we can talk about it after we have had our supper.”

“Yes, you are right,” added Paul.  “I will have my breakfast and coffee in the morning.  And, boys, we are now in a hotel that is more stylish than the one in which we took dinner.  We must not eat all that we take on our plates, but will leave a little, then the landlord will think ‘they must have had enough, for they have not eaten all.’”

This brought up a discussion, the other two fearing that if any food were left upon their plates the innkeeper’s feelings would be wounded, believing that they were not satisfied with the food.  The dialogue waxed warm, but it was finally decided that they would take more upon their plates than they could eat, and thus could leave some, to spare the feelings of the innkeeper by letting him know that they had enough.  They also decided that they would not eat so hurriedly and greedily as at dinner.  Just then supper was announced, and the three hungry travelers went to the supper-room and took their places.

In addition to the dish of roast veal, lettuce and potatoes, there was a plate of white rolls and a dish of stewed pears.

The boys forgot their agreement in regard to eating slowly, and the viands disappeared like frost in the beams of a July sun.  The lettuce and stewed pears had disappeared like magic, and but one piece of the veal and two rolls remained.

They arose from the table and were about to leave, when Fritz took the piece of veal upon his fork and ate it.

“What is the use of leaving it when one has an appetite for it?” he said.

“Then as none of the veal is left we may as well eat the rolls,” said Franz.  Paul agreed and the plate was empty, and nothing was left to prove to the landlord that they had more than enough.

“Oh, boys, we have again forgotten to feed Pixy!” said Fritz.  “You see my little sister feeds him at home and that is the reason that I forget him.”

This was a misfortune and there was no help for it but to tell the innkeeper.

“Would you give Pixy his supper for three pennies?” asked Fritz.

“Oh, don’t bother about the dog.  He has had his supper in the yard.  Don’t you see how well he is sleeping on the porch?”

The three now concluded to take a walk through the village, followed or rather guided by Pixy, who could be trusted without his rope in that quiet place, but they soon returned and asked to be shown to their room.  The landlord led the way to a large, pleasant room with three single beds in it, and pointed to a piece of carpet for Pixy, for Fritz had asked permission for him to share their room.  Then he wished them a good sleep, bade them good-night and went below.