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Updated: June 18, 2025
It is true that he and his companions, when on shore, frequently came upon their deserted camps, or single empty huts; and their canoes followed the Hassler several times, but never when it was convenient to stop and let them come up with the vessel. This particular set were not in a canoe, but in a large boat of English build.
Percy Pound is a stockbroker in Kansas City and will go nowhere that his red touring car cannot carry him. Otto Hassler went on the railroad and lost his foot braking; after which he and Fritz succeeded their father as the town tailors. Arthur sat about the sleepy little town all his life he died before he was twenty-five.
Its destination, we knew, was the Missouri, and the Hassler boys always maintained that we could embark at Sandtown in floodtime, follow our noses, and eventually arrive at New Orleans. Now they took up their old argument. "If us boys had grit enough to try it, it wouldn't take no time to get to Kansas City and St. Joe." We began to talk about the places we wanted to go to.
"He feeds my mind: I must feed my body." "Aren't you ashamed to have some one watching you eat like an animal in a menagerie?" Instead of being angry, Hassler began to laugh and corrected her: "Like a domestic animal," he went on. "But do bring it. I'll eat my shame with it." Christophe saw that Hassler was making no attempt to find out what he was doing, and tried to lead the conversation back.
Not help, nor money, nor material assistance of any kind. Nothing but understanding. Hassler had been persecuted like him. Hassler was a free man. He would understand a free man, whom German mediocrity was pursuing with its spite and trying to crush. They were fighting the same battle. He carried the idea into execution as soon as it occurred to him.
He, was always ashamed, talked confidently; he did not know what he was saying; he was in a sort of ecstasy, Hassler smiled at his prattling and said: "When you are a man, and have become a good musician, you shall come and see me in Berlin. I shall make something of you." Jean-Christophe was too delighted to reply. Hassler teased him. "You don't want to?"
He was inclined, from the character of the shells, to believe that the coal must be cretaceous rather than tertiary. On Tuesday, the 19th March, the Hassler left Sandy Point. The weather was beautiful, a mellow autumn day with a reminiscence of summer in its genial warmth.
A pair of kelp-geese and a steamer duck were brought in, and one of the officers reported humming-birds flitting across the brook from which the Hassler's tanks were filled. Early on the morning of the 30th, while mountains and snow-fields, woodland and water, still lay between moonlight and sunrise, the Hassler started for Tarn Bay.
He consoled himself with spending half his days watching the windows of the Palace which had been pointed out as those of the master. Most often he only saw the shutters, for Hassler got up late, and the windows were closed almost all morning. This habit had made well-informed persons say that Hassler could not bear the light of day, and lived in eternal night.
The district in which Hassler had chosen his house was almost entirely built in that strange new architecture into which young Germany has thrown an erudite and deliberate barbarism struggling laboriously to have genius.
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