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now the tone of the master。 All the sentiment was out of it and all the
hardness in it。
Lena felt the change without understanding it。 ‘‘I bet you； pa'll make
you wish you'd taken my advice；'' she said sullenly。
But Feuerstein led her home。 They went up stairs where Mrs。 Ganser
was seated； looking stupidly at a new bonnet as she turned it slowly round
on one of her cushion…like hands。 Feuerstein went to her and kissed her
on the hang of her cheek。 ‘‘Mother！'' he said in a deep； moving voice。
Mrs。 Ganser blinked and looked helplessly at Lena。
‘‘I'm married； ma；'' explained Lena。
‘‘It's Mr。 Feuerstein。'' And she gave her silly laugh。
Mrs。 Ganser grew slowly pale。 ‘‘Your father；'' she at last succeeded
in articulating。 ‘‘Ach！'' She lifted her arm； thick as a piano leg； and
resumed the study of her new bonnet。
‘‘Won't you welcome me； mother？'' asked Feuerstein； his tone and
attitude dignified appeal。
Mrs。 Ganser shook her huge head vaguely。 ‘‘See Peter；'' was all she
said。
They went down stairs and waited； Lena silent； Feuerstein pacing the
room and rehearsing； now aloud； now to himself； the scene he would enact
with his father…in…law。 Peter was in a frightful humor that evening。 His
only boy； who spent his mornings in sleep； his afternoons in speeding
horses and his evenings in carousal； had come down upon him for ten
thousand dollars to settle a gambling debt。 Peter was willing that his son
should be a gentleman and should conduct himself like one。 But he had
worked too hard for his money not to wince as a plain man at what he
endured and even courted as a seeker after position for the house of
Ganser。 He had hoped to be free to vent his ill…humor at home。 He was
therefore irritated by the discovery that an outsider was there to check him。
As he came in he gave Feuerstein a look which said plainly：
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‘‘And who are you； and how long are you going to intrude yourself？''
But Feuerstein； absorbed in the role he had so carefully thought out；
did not note his unconscious father…in…law's face。 He extended both his
hands and advanced grandly upon fat； round Peter。 ‘‘My father！'' he
exclaimed in his classic German。 ‘‘Forgive my unseemly haste in
plucking without your permission the beautiful flower I found within
reach。''
Peter stepped back and gave a hoarse grunt of astonishment。 His red
face became redder as he glared； first at Feuerstein； then at Lena。 ‘‘What
lunatic is this you've got here； daughter？'' he demanded。
‘‘My father！'' repeated Feuerstein； drawing Lena to him。
Ganser's mouth opened and shut slowly several times and his
whiskers bristled。 ‘‘Is this fellow telling the truth？'' he asked Lena in a
tone that made her shiver and shrink away from her husband。
She began to cry。 ‘‘He made me do it； pa；'' she whined。 ‘‘II''
‘‘Go to your mother；'' shouted Ganser； pointing his pudgy finger
tremulously toward the door。 ‘‘Move！''
Lena； drying her eyes with her sleeve； fled。 Feuerstein became a
sickly white。 When she had disappeared； Ganser looked at him with
cruel little eyes that sparkled。 Feuerstein quailed。 It was full half a
minute before Ganser spoke。 Then he went up to Feuerstein； stood on
tiptoe and； waving his arms frantically above his head； yelled into his face
‘‘Rindsvieh！'' as contemptuous an insult as one German can fling at
another。
‘‘She is my lawful wife；'' said Feuerstein with an attempt at his pose。
‘‘Get the house ausquick！aus！ gleich！Lump！I call the police！''
‘‘I demand my wife！'' exclaimed Feuerstein。
Ganser ran to the front door and opened it。 ‘‘Out！'' he shrieked。 ‘‘If
you don't； I have you taken in when the police come the block down。
This is my house！ Rindsvieh！''
Feuerstein caught up his soft hat from the hall table and hurried out。
As he passed； Ganser tried to kick him but failed ludicrously because his
short； thick leg would not reach。 At the bottom of the steps Feuerstein
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turned and waved his fists wildly。 Ganser waved his fists at Feuerstein
and； shaking his head so violently that his hanging cheeks flapped back
and forth； bellowed：
‘‘Rindsvieh！ Dreck！''
Then he rushed in and slammed the door。
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CHAPTER V
A SENSITIVE SOUL SEEKS SALVE
As Mr。 Feuerstein left Hilda on the previous Sunday night he promised
to meet her in Tompkins Square the next eveningat the band concert。
She walked up and down with Sophie； her spirits gradually sinking after
half…past eight and a feeling of impending misfortune settling in close。
She was not conscious of the music； though the second part of the program
contained the selections from Wagner which she loved best。 She
feverishly searched the crowd and the half…darkness beyond。 She
imagined that every approaching tall man was her lover。 With the
frankness to which she had been bred she made no concealment of her
heart…sick anxiety。
‘‘He may have to be at the theater；'' said Sophie； herself extremely
uneasy。 Partly through shrewdness； partly through her natural suspicion of
strangers； she felt that Mr。 Feuerstein； upon whom she was building； was
not a rock。
‘‘No；'' replied Hilda。 ‘‘He told me he wouldn't be at the theater； but
would surely come here。'' The fact that her lover had said so settled it to
her mind。
They did not leave the Square until ten o'clock； when it was almost
deserted and most of its throngs of an hour before were in bed sleeping
soundly in the content that comes from a life of labor。 And when she did
get to bed she lay awake for nearly an hour； tired though she was。
Without doubt some misfortune had befallen him‘‘He's been hurt or is
ill；'' she decided。 The next morning she stood in the door of the shop
watching for the postman on his first round； as he turned the corner of
Second Street； she could not restrain herself； but ran to meet him。
‘‘Any letter for me？'' she inquired in a voice that compelled him to feel
personal guilt in having to say ‘‘No。''
It was a day of mistakes in weights and in making up packages； a day
of vain searching for some comforting explanation of Mr。 Feuerstein's
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failure and silence。 After supper Sophie came and they went to the
Square； keeping to the center of it where the lights were brightest and the
people fewest。
‘‘I'm sure something's happened；'' said Sophie。 ‘‘Maybe Otto has
told him a story or has''
‘‘Nonot Otto。'' Hilda dismissed the suggestion as impossible。 She
had known Otto too long and too well to entertain for an instant the idea
that he could be underhanded。 ‘‘There's only one reason he's sick； very
sicktoo sick to send word。''
‘‘Let's go and see；'' said Sophie； as if she had not planned it hours
before。
Hilda hesitated。 ‘‘It might look as if I'' She did not finish。
‘‘But you needn't show yourself；'' replied Sophie。 ‘‘You can wait
down the street and I'll go up to the door and won't give my name。''
Hilda clasped her arm more tightly about Sophie's waist and they set
out。 They walked more and more swiftly until toward the last they were
almost running。 At the