Wirthin.  N-not very well; I was afraid you would ask me that.  You see, they hate it, they don’t take the least interest in it, and there isn’t anything to incite them to an interest, you see.  And so they can’t talk at all.

S. M-m.  That’s bad.  I had an idea that they’d get lonesome, and have to seek society; and then, of course, my plan would work, considering the cast-iron conditions of it.

Wirthin.  But it hasn’t, so far.  I’ve thrown nice company in their way —­I’ve done my very best, in every way I could think of—­but it’s no use; they won’t go out, and they won’t receive anybody.  And a body can’t blame them; they’d be tongue-tied—­couldn’t do anything with a German conversation.  Now, when I started to learn German—­such poor German as I know—­the case was very different:  my intended was a German.  I was to live among Germans the rest of my life; and so I had to learn.  Why, bless my heart!  I nearly lost the man the first time he asked me—­I thought he was talking about the measles.  They were very prevalent at the time.  Told him I didn’t want any in mine.  But I found out the mistake, and I was fixed for him next time....  Oh yes, Mr. Stephenson, a sweetheart’s a prime incentive.

S. (Aside.) Good soul! she doesn’t suspect that my plan is a double scheme—­includes a speaking knowledge of German, which I am bound they shall have, and the keeping them away from those two young fellows —­though if I had known that those boys were going off for a year’s foreign travel, I—­however, the girls would never learn that language at home; they’re here, and I won’t relent—­they’ve got to stick the three months out. (Aloud.) So they are making poor progress?  Now tell me—­will they learn it—­after a sort of fashion, I mean—­in three months?

Wirthin.  Well, now, I’ll tell you the only chance I see.  Do what I will, they won’t answer my German with anything but English; if that goes on, they’ll stand stock-still.  Now I’m willing to do this:  I’ll straighten everything up, get matters in smooth running order, and day after to-morrow I’ll go to bed sick, and stay sick three weeks.

S. Good!  You are an angel?  I see your idea.  The servant girl—­

Wirthin.  That’s it; that’s my project.  She doesn’t know a word of English.  And Gretchen’s a real good soul, and can talk the slates off a roof.  Her tongue’s just a flutter-mill.  I’ll keep my room—­just ailing a little—­and they’ll never see my face except when they pay their little duty-visits to me, and then I’ll say English disorders my mind.  They’ll be shut up with Gretchen’s windmill, and she’ll just grind them to powder.  Oh, they’ll get a start in the language—­sort of a one, sure’s you live.  You come back in three weeks.

S. Bless you, my Retterin!  I’ll be here to the day!  Get ye to your sick-room—­you shall have treble pay. (Looking at watch.) Good!  I can just catch my train.  Leben Sie wohl! [Exit.]