A second-class compartment of a corridor carriage, in motion.  In it are seated the Englishman and his wife, opposite each other at the corridor end, she with her face to the engine, he with his back.  Both are somewhat protected from the rest of the travellers by newspapers.  Next to her sits the German, and opposite him sits the American; next the American in one window corner is seated the Dutch Youth; the other window corner is taken by the German’s bag.  The silence is only broken by the slight rushing noise of the train’s progression and the crackling of the English newspapers.

American. [Turning to the Dutch Youth] Guess I’d like that window raised; it’s kind of chilly after that old run they gave us.

[The Dutch Youth laughs, and goes through the motions of raising the window.  The English regard the operation with uneasy irritation.  The German opens his bag, which reposes on the corner seat next him, and takes out a book.]

American.  The Germans are great readers.  Very stimulating practice.  I read most anything myself!

     [The German holds up the book so that the title may be read.]

“Don Quixote”—­fine book.  We Americans take considerable stock in old man Quixote.  Bit of a wild-cat—­but we don’t laugh at him.

German.  He is dead.  Dead as a sheep.  A good thing, too.

American.  In America we have still quite an amount of chivalry.

German.  Chivalry is nothing ‘sentimentalisch’.  In modern days—­no good.  A man must push, he must pull.

American.  So you say.  But I judge your form of chivalry is sacrifice to the state.  We allow more freedom to the individual soul.  Where there’s something little and weak, we feel it kind of noble to give up to it.  That way we feel elevated.

[As he speaks there is seen in the corridor doorway the little man, with the woman’s baby still on his arm and the bundle held in the other hand.  He peers in anxiously.  The English, acutely conscious, try to dissociate themselves from his presence with their papers.  The Dutch Youth laughs.]

German.  ‘Ach’!  So!

American.  Dear me!

Little man.  Is there room?  I can’t find a seat.

American.  Why, yes!  There’s a seat for one.

Little man. [Depositing bundle outside, and heaving baby] May I?

American.  Come right in!

     [The German sulkily moves his bag.  The little man comes in and
     seats himself gingerly.]

American.  Where’s the mother?

Little man. [Ruefully] Afraid she got left behind.