Part 13 (1/2)
And here is another man. What's wrong with him?”
Beyond Rosenblatt lay a black-bearded man upon his face, breathing heavily. The doctor turned him over.
”He's alive anyway, and,” after examination, ”I can't find any wound. Heart all right, nothing wrong with him, I guess, except that he's got a bad jag on.”
A cursory examination of the crowd revealed wounds in plenty, but nothing serious enough to demand the doctor's attention.
”Now then,” said the Sergeant briskly, ”I want to get your names and addresses. You can let me have them?” he continued, turning to Jacob.
”Me not know all mens.”
”Go on,” said the Sergeant curtly.
”Dis man Rosenblatt. Dis man Polak, Kravicz. Not know where he live.”
”It would be difficult, I am thinking, for any one to tell where he lives now,” said the Sergeant grimly, ”and it does not much matter for my purpose.”
”Poor chap,” said the doctor, ”it's too bad.”
”What?” said the Sergeant, glancing at him, ”well, it is too bad, that is true. But they are a bad lot, these Galicians.”
”Poor chap,” continued the doctor, looking down upon him, ”perhaps he has got a wife and children.”
A murmur rose among the men.
”No, he got no wife,” said Jacob.
”Thank goodness for that!” said the doctor. ”These fellows are a bit rough,” he continued, ”but they have never had a chance, nor even half a chance. A beastly tyrannical government at home has put the fear of death on them for this world, and an ignorant and superst.i.tious Church has kept them in fear of purgatory and h.e.l.l fire for the next. They have never had a chance in their own land, and so far, they have got no better chance here, except that they do not live in the fear of Siberia.” The doctor had his own views upon the foreign peoples in the West.
”That is all right, Doctor,” said the Sergeant, despite the Calvinism of generations beating in his heart, ”it is hard on them, but there is n.o.body compelling them here to drink and fight like a lot of brutes.”
”But who is to teach them any better?” said the doctor.
”Come on,” said the Sergeant, ”who is this?” pointing to the dark-bearded man lying in the corner.
”Dis man,” said Jacob, ”strange man.”
”Any of you know him here?” asked the Sergeant.
There was a murmur of voices.
”What do they say?”
”No one know him. He drink much beer. He very drunk. He play cards wit' Rosenblatt,” said Jacob.
”Playing cards, eh? I think we will be finding something now.
Who else was in the card game?”
Again a murmur of voices arose.
”Dis Polak man,” said Jacob, ”and Rosenblatt, and dat man dere, and--”
Half a dozen voices rose in explanation, and half a dozen hands eagerly pointed out the big Dalmatian, who stood back among the crowd pale with terror.