"I have no money for Belgians," he said. He would not let them come in.
"Why should I help the Belgians? Liars and hypocrites!"
The story went about the neighborhood, and he knew it. He cared nothing
for popularity, but he resented losing his standing in the community.
And all along he was convinced that he was right; that the Belgians had
lied. There had been, in the Germany he had left, no such will to
wanton killing. These people were ignorant. Out of the depths of their
ignorance they talked.
He read only German newspapers. In the little room back of Gustav
Shroeder's he met only Germans. And always, at his elbow, there was
Rudolph.
Until the middle of January Rudolph had not been able to get him to one
of his incendiary meetings. Then one cold night while Anna sewed by the
lamp inside the little house, Rudolph and Herman walked in the frozen
garden, Herman with his pipe, Rudolph with the cheap cigarets he used
incessantly. Anna opened the door a crack and listened at first. She was
watchful of Rudolph, always, those days. But the subject was not Anna.
"You think we get in, then?" Herman asked.
"Sure."
"But for what?"
"So 'Spencers' can make more money out of it," said Rudolph bitterly.
"And others like them. But they and their kind don't do the dying. It's
the workers that go and die. Look at Germany!"
"Yes. It is so in Germany."
"All this talk about democracy--that's bunk. Just plain bunk. Why should
the workers in this country kill the workers in another? Why? To make
money for capital--more money."
"Ja," Herman assented. "That is what war is. Always the same. I came
here to get away from war."
"Well, you didn't get far enough. You left a king behind, but we've got
a Czar here."
Herman was slowly, methodically, following an earlier train of thought.
"I am a workman," he said. "I would not fight against other workmen.
Just as I, a German, will not fight against other Germans."
"But you would sit here, on the hill, and do nothing."
"What can I do? One man, and with no job."
"Come to the meeting to-night."
"You and your meetings!" the old German said impatiently. "You talk.
That's all."
Rudolph lowered his voice.
"You think we only talk, eh? Well, you come and hear some things. Talk!
You come," he coaxed, changing his tone. "And we'll have some beer and
schnitzel at Gus's after. My treat. How about it?"