“Nonsense,” she replied. “You give them credit for too much fine feeling. Attention doubtless flatters them. It always does such people.”
That she had lost her first idea that the pair might be entitled to unusual consideration bothered him; but he feared, because of his great plan, to make too vehement defense, so only said, with studied mildness:
“They are not ‘such people’, I am sure. You yourself, at first, said they looked ‘different.’ It’s hard luck, I’ll bet a hat, and not a lack of brains, decency or real distinction that’s forced them to herd down there with those cattle. I’ll guarantee they know the whole thing about the little social game in Germany.” He watched his mother closely, to see if the shot told, and was delighted when he saw it did.
“Yes; he really looks superior,” she admitted. “I have no doubt their German is quite perfect. I wonder—perhaps he might, at one time, have been someone of distinct importance.”
“I have no doubt of it. Anyone can see it makes him sore as a mashed thumb to have his poverty make him into a free side-show to be stared at on this old canal-boat. I’ve seen the ‘Cookies’ rubbering and making comments that I know he heard. He flushed red as beets and took his daughter somewhere where their gimlet stare could not bore to her. Those glass-eyed school-ma’ams actually drove them out of the fresh air!”
“He seems to make no friends among the steerage passengers, as all the others do.”
“Those swine? They drive him crazy. The girl is constantly annoyed by men that try to sidle up to her. I’ve been half expecting the old man would bat that big Italian who’s always talking New York politics—shoot him with whatever he has always with him in that queer, oval case, and throw him to the fish.”
“I think that is some instrument—some music thing.”
“Might be a flute.”
“Perhaps he is some really great musician,” Mrs. Vanderlyn said, speculatively. “They go everywhere in Germany. No doors are closed to them. It wouldn’t be at all surprising for a musician to travel as he’s doing. Such people are eccentric, and often so foolishly improvident. Something about music makes them so. But they worship them in Germany. They know the very highest people.”
Her son grasped at the suggestion. “Funny, isn’t it—how crazy all the lieber-deutchers are when they hear music! Hoch der Kaiser sets the pace, himself.”
“Yes, I know he does,” said Mrs. Vanderlyn, a little shocked by his irreverent way of making reference to Heaven’s Chosen. “Poor things!” Her sympathy was quite aroused, now. She became quite certain that the steerage couple had highly influential friends abroad. “Would it please him, do you think, if I should show the daughter some attention?”
John knew that “some attention” from his mother to the emigrants would mean a course of open patronage and he didn’t wish to have her try that on with that particular pair. He shook his head. “I don’t believe they’d stand for it,” he said. “But if you could do them some real kindness—a courtesy that wasn’t—er—er—patronizing, it—”