you," replied Schweik. "Do you want a thoroughbred or one from the street?"
"I think," replied Bretschneider, "that I'd rather have a thoroughbred."
"Wouldn't you like a police dog?" asked Schweik. "One of those that gets on the scent in a jiffy and leads you to the scene of the crime? I know a butcher who's got one. He uses it for drawing his cart, but that dog's missed its vocation, as you might say."
"I'd like a terrier," said Bretschneider with composure, "a terrier that doesn't bite."
"Do you want a terrier without teeth, then?" asked Schweik. "I know of one. It belongs to a man who keeps a public house."
"Perhaps I'd rather have a ratter," announced Bretschneider with embarrassment. His knowledge of dogcraft was in its very infancy, and if he hadn't received these particular instructions from the police headquarters, he'd never have bothered his head about dogs at all.
But his instructions were precise, clear and stringent. He was to make himself more closely acquainted with Schweik on the strength of his activities as a dog fancier, for which purpose he was authorized to select assistants and expend sums of money for the purchase of dogs.
"Ratters are of all different sizes," said Schweik. "I know of two little 'uns and three big 'uns. You could nurse the whole five of 'em on your lap. I can strongly recommend them."
"That might suit me," announced Bretschneider, "and what would they cost?"
"That depends on the size," replied Schweik. "It's all a question of size. A ratter's not like a calf. It's the other way round with them. The smaller they are, the more they cost."
"What I had in mind was some big ones to use as watch dogs," replied Bretschneider, who was afraid he might encroach too far on his secret police funds.
"Right you are," said Schweik. "I can sell you some big 'uns
----
for fifty crowns each, and some bigger still for twenty-five crowns. Only there's one thing we've forgotten. Do you want puppies or older dogs, and then is it to be dogs or bitches?"
"It's all the same to me," replied Bretschneider, who found himself grappling with unknown problems. "You get them for me and I'll come and fetch them from you at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Will they be ready by then?"
"Just you come along. I'll have them without fail," answered Schweik drily. "But under the circumstances I shall have to ask you for an advance of thirty crowns."
"That's all right," said Bretschneider, paying the money. "And now let's have a drink on the strength of it. I'll stand treat."
When they had each had four drinks, Bretschneider announced, after telling Schweik not to be afraid of him, that he wasn't on duty that day and so he could talk to him about politics.
Schweik declared that he never talked about politics in a public house, and that politics was a mug's game anyhow.
In opposition to this, Bretschneider was more revolutionary in his views and said that every weak country was predestined to destruction. Then he asked Schweik what he thought about this.
Schweik announced that it had nothing to do with the country, but that once he had to look after a weak St. Bernard puppy which he had fed with army biscuits and it had died.
When they had each had five drinks, Bretschneider asserted that he was an anarchist and asked Schweik which organization he ought to join.
Schweik said that once an anarchist had bought a mastiff from him for a hundred crowns and had failed to pay the last instalment.
Over the sixth drink Bretschneider was talking about revolution and against mobilization, whereupon Schweik leaned over toward him and whispered into his ear:
"There's a customer just come in, so don't let him hear you or it might be awkward for you. And look, the landlady's crying!"
Mrs. Palivec was, in fact, crying on her chair behind the bar.
"What are you crying for, missus?" asked Bretschneider. "In
----
three months we'll have won the war, there'll be an amnesty, your husband'll come back home and then we'll
"I think," replied Bretschneider, "that I'd rather have a thoroughbred."
"Wouldn't you like a police dog?" asked Schweik. "One of those that gets on the scent in a jiffy and leads you to the scene of the crime? I know a butcher who's got one. He uses it for drawing his cart, but that dog's missed its vocation, as you might say."
"I'd like a terrier," said Bretschneider with composure, "a terrier that doesn't bite."
"Do you want a terrier without teeth, then?" asked Schweik. "I know of one. It belongs to a man who keeps a public house."
"Perhaps I'd rather have a ratter," announced Bretschneider with embarrassment. His knowledge of dogcraft was in its very infancy, and if he hadn't received these particular instructions from the police headquarters, he'd never have bothered his head about dogs at all.
But his instructions were precise, clear and stringent. He was to make himself more closely acquainted with Schweik on the strength of his activities as a dog fancier, for which purpose he was authorized to select assistants and expend sums of money for the purchase of dogs.
"Ratters are of all different sizes," said Schweik. "I know of two little 'uns and three big 'uns. You could nurse the whole five of 'em on your lap. I can strongly recommend them."
"That might suit me," announced Bretschneider, "and what would they cost?"
"That depends on the size," replied Schweik. "It's all a question of size. A ratter's not like a calf. It's the other way round with them. The smaller they are, the more they cost."
"What I had in mind was some big ones to use as watch dogs," replied Bretschneider, who was afraid he might encroach too far on his secret police funds.
"Right you are," said Schweik. "I can sell you some big 'uns
----
for fifty crowns each, and some bigger still for twenty-five crowns. Only there's one thing we've forgotten. Do you want puppies or older dogs, and then is it to be dogs or bitches?"
"It's all the same to me," replied Bretschneider, who found himself grappling with unknown problems. "You get them for me and I'll come and fetch them from you at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Will they be ready by then?"
"Just you come along. I'll have them without fail," answered Schweik drily. "But under the circumstances I shall have to ask you for an advance of thirty crowns."
"That's all right," said Bretschneider, paying the money. "And now let's have a drink on the strength of it. I'll stand treat."
When they had each had four drinks, Bretschneider announced, after telling Schweik not to be afraid of him, that he wasn't on duty that day and so he could talk to him about politics.
Schweik declared that he never talked about politics in a public house, and that politics was a mug's game anyhow.
In opposition to this, Bretschneider was more revolutionary in his views and said that every weak country was predestined to destruction. Then he asked Schweik what he thought about this.
Schweik announced that it had nothing to do with the country, but that once he had to look after a weak St. Bernard puppy which he had fed with army biscuits and it had died.
When they had each had five drinks, Bretschneider asserted that he was an anarchist and asked Schweik which organization he ought to join.
Schweik said that once an anarchist had bought a mastiff from him for a hundred crowns and had failed to pay the last instalment.
Over the sixth drink Bretschneider was talking about revolution and against mobilization, whereupon Schweik leaned over toward him and whispered into his ear:
"There's a customer just come in, so don't let him hear you or it might be awkward for you. And look, the landlady's crying!"
Mrs. Palivec was, in fact, crying on her chair behind the bar.
"What are you crying for, missus?" asked Bretschneider. "In
----
three months we'll have won the war, there'll be an amnesty, your husband'll come back home and then we'll
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