An idea came to Carmichael.  He called a waitress and asked her to bring a copy of that day’s paper.  Meantime he recovered the vintner’s paper, and when he finally put the two together, it was a simple matter to replace the missing cutting.  Grumbach showed a mild interest over the procedure.

“Why do you do that, Captain?”

“A little idea I have; it may not amount to anything.”  But the American was puzzled over the cutting.  There were two sides to it:  which had interested the vintner?  “Do you care for another beer?”

“No, I am tired and sleepy, Captain.”

“All right; we’ll go back to the hotel.  There is nothing going on here to-night.”

But Carmichael was mistaken for once.

A little time later Herr Goldberg harangued his fellow socialists bitterly.  Gretchen’s business in this society was to serve.  They had selected her because they knew that she inclined toward the propaganda.  Few spoke to her, outside of giving orders, and then kindly.

The rathskeller had several windows and doors.  These led to the Biergarten, to the wine-cellar, and to an alley which had no opening on the street.  The police had as yet never arrested anybody; but several times the police had dispersed Herr Goldberg and his disciples on account of the noise.  The window which led to the blind alley was six feet from the floor, twice as broad as it was high, and unbarred.  Under this window sat the vintner.  He was a probationer, a novitiate; this was his second attendance.  He liked to sit in the shadow and smile at Herr Goldberg’s philosophy, which, summed up briefly, meant that the rich should divide with the poor and that the poor should hang on to what they had or got.  It may have never occurred to Herr Goldberg that the poor were generally poor because of their incapabilities, their ignorance, and incompetence.  To-night, however, there were variety and spice with his Jeremiad.

“Brothers, shall this thing take place?  Shall the daughter of Ehrenstein become Jugendheit’s vassal?  Oh, how we have fallen!  Where is the grand duke’s pride we have heard so much about?  Are we, then, afraid of Jugendheit?”

“No!” roared his auditors, banging their stems and tankards.  The vintner joined the demonstration, banging his stein as lustily as the next one.

“Have you thought what this marriage will cost us in taxes?”

“What?”

“Thousands of crowns, thousands!  Do we not always pay for the luxuries of the rich?  Do not their pleasures grind us so much deeper into the dirt?  Yes, we are the corn they grind.  And shall we submit, like the dogs in Flanders, to become beasts of burden?”

“No, no!”

“I have a plan, brothers; it will show the duke to what desperation he has driven us at last.  We will mob the Jugendheit embassy on the day of the wedding; we will tear it apart, brick by brick, stone by stone.”