“Aha, very clever,” replied the stranger.  “This Rosenblatt is a shrewd man.  He will be a great man in this city.  He will be your lord some day.”

The eyes of both men gleamed at his jibes.  “Aha,” the stranger continued, “he will make you serve him by his money.  Canada is, indeed, a free country, but there will be master and slaves here, too.”

It was a sore spot to the men, for the mastery of Rosenblatt was no imagination, but a grim reality.  It was with difficulty that any man could get a good job unless by Rosenblatt’s agency.  It was Rosenblatt who contracted for the Galician labour.  One might hate Rosenblatt, or despise him, but it was impossible to ignore him.

“What say you, my brothers,” said the stranger, “shall we attend this feast?”

The men were eager to go.  Why should Rosenblatt stand in their way?  Were they not good friends of Jacob and Anka?  Was not every home in the colony open to a stranger, and especially a stranger of rank?  Simon swallowed his pride and led the way to Paulina’s house.

There was no need of a guide to the house where the feasting was in progress.  The shouting and singing of the revellers hailed them from afar, and as they drew near, the crowd about the door indicated the house of mirth.  Joseph and Simon were welcomed with overflowing hospitality and mugs of beer.  But when they turned to introduce the stranger, they found that he had disappeared, nor could they discover him anywhere in the crowd.  In their search for him, they came upon Rosenblatt, who at once assailed them.

“How come you Slovaks here?” he cried contemptuously.

“Where the trough is, there the pigs will come,” laughed one of his satellites.

“I come to do honour to my friend, Jacob Wassyl,” said Simon in a loud voice.

“Of course,” cried a number of friendly voices.  “And why not?  That is quite right.”

“Jacob Wassyl wants none of you here,” shouted Rosenblatt over the crowd.

“Who speaks for Jacob Wassyl?” cried a voice.  It was Jacob himself, standing in the door, wet with sweat, flushed with dancing and exhilarated with the beer and with all the ardours of his wedding day.  For that day at least, Jacob owned the world.  “What?” he cried, “is it my friend Simon Ketzel and my friend Joseph Pinkas?”

“We were not invited to come to your wedding, Jacob Wassyl,” replied Simon, “but we desired to honour your bride and yourself.”

“Aye, and so you shall.  You are welcome, Simon Ketzel.  You are welcome, Joseph Pinkas.  Who says you are not?” he continued, turning defiantly to Rosenblatt.

Rosenblatt hesitated, and then grunted out something that sounded like “Slovak swine!”

“Slovak!” cried Jacob with generous enthusiasm.  “We are all Slovak.  We are all Polak.  We are all Galician.  We are all brothers.  Any man who says no, is no friend of Jacob Wassyl.”

Shouts of approval rose from the excited crowd.