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Kautz and I read the German classics, and went to the German theatre; and by and by a very celebrated player, Friedrich Haase, from the Royal Theatre of Berlin, came to San Francisco. We never missed a performance, and when his tour was over, Mrs. Kautz gave a lawn party at Angel Island for him and a few of the members of his company. It was charming.
A deserter a German and that scar is your passport! Ye-es! Well, will you tell me, Herr Bettermann, in plain German, how you came by that scar?" "Yes," said Bettermann, fiercely, "I will!" Behind him, where the house windows shone rosy in the sunset, Herr Haase could see upon the lower balcony the shimmer of a white frock and a face that peeped and drew back. The little wife was listening.
As to the artisans, they may, as I have said, have largely belonged to the Socialist party with its poll of four million votes in the last election and in the words of Herr Haase in the Reichstag just before the war, they may have wished to hold themselves apart from "this cursed Imperialist policy"; but when the war actually arrived, and the fever, and the threat of Russia, and the fury of conscription, they perforce had to give way and join in.
There were twelve long telegrams in all, of which many had to be amended, pruned, sub-edited, and rewritten; each was directed to a plain private address in Berlin, and each was to be answered to the address of Herr Haase.
"And what news are you talking about now?" He continued to pant and wipe while the porter read from his copy of the Bund, the German official communique of the previous day's fighting on the Somme. "I don't like it," said the porter, when he had finished. "It looks as if we were losing ground. Those English." Herr Haase pocketed his handkerchief and took the large envelope in his hand again.
"Zu Befehl, Excellenz," acquiesced Herr Haase, and made of his solidity and stolidity a screen and a shield for the master-mind in its master-body. Herr Bettermann, bending behind his machine, took in the grouping with an eye that sneered and exulted, jerked his angular blue-clad shoulders contemptuously, and turned again to his business.
In a little while Matt's mother came downstairs with hopelessness written on every line of her hard face. 'Thaa'll hev to mak' up thi mind to say good-bye to Miriam, lad. Hoo's noan baan to howd aat much longer. Hoo's abaat done, poor lass! 'Yo' mornd talk like that to me, mother, or I'll put yo' aat o' the haase. I'm noan baan to say good-bye to Merry yet, by I' ammot!
Herr Haase came shuffling towards the steps. "Ich stelle Mich vor; I introduce myself," he said ceremoniously. "Haase sent by his Excellency, the Herr Baron von Steinlach." The other gazed down on him, a youngish man, golden-blond as to beard and hair, with wide, friendly eyes magnified by his glasses.
Herr Haase added to his words the emphasis of a nod and walked on to the stairs. In the corridor above, a row of white-painted bedroom doors had each its number. Beside one of them a tall young man was sunk spinelessly in a chair, relaxed to the still warmth of the day.
Herr Haase picked up the empty suit-case, stood aside to let Von Wetten pass, and brought up the rear of the procession. At the foot of the wooden steps that led up to the veranda, the Baron halted and turned to Bettermann. "One thing makes me curious," he said. "Suppose we had not accepted your terms, what would you have done? Sold your machine to our enemies?"
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