At this moment the little man had finished his first song, briskly twanged his guitar, and said something in his German patois, which I could not understand, but which brought forth a hearty round of laughter from the surrounding throng.
“What was that he said?” I asked.
“He says that his throat is dried up, he would like some wine,” replied the lackey who was standing near me.
“What? is he rather fond of the glass?”
“Yes, all that sort of people are,” replied the lackey, smiling and pointing at the minstrel.
The minstrel took off his cap, and swinging his guitar went toward the hotel. Raising his head, he addressed the ladies and gentlemen standing by the windows and on the balconies, saying in a half-Italian, half-German accent, and with the same intonation that jugglers use in speaking to their audiences—
“