The Guns of Europe | Page 9

The Austrian officer smiled when he looked at them.
"Amerikanischer," he said, showing his large, even white teeth. "I haf a cousin leeving in New York."
"I've no doubt he's a fine fellow," said John, as the officer passed on, "and I wish 'I knew him. I believe it's true, Mr. Anson, that we Americans are the spoiled children of the world."
"It's so, John, although I object to the adjective, 'spoiled,' and it's so because we're far away, and mind our own business. Of course a democracy like ours does many foolish things, and often we make ourselves look ridiculous, but remember John, that we're an honest, straight- forward people, and it's foreign to all our nature to tread on the weak or cower before the strong."
John thought little of the words then, Mr. Anson preached so much although he was to remember them later because his attention was diverted to the young stranger whom the officer was now asking for his passport. The youth he was little more than such raised his head languidly from the cushion and without wholly lifting his weary lids produced his passport from the inside pocket of his coat. John could not keep from seeing the name on it, "August Wilhelm Kempner."
"Ah, from Vienna," said the examining officer, "and your occupation is described here as that of a painter."
"Yes," said the weary youth, "but I fear that it is no occupation at all in times like these."
As he spoke in German John did not understand him, but he knew that he was making some sort of explanation. He also saw that the officer was satisfied, as, smiling with the courtesy common to the Austrians, he passed into the corridor, and entered the next com partment. John, by and by, spoke to young Kemp ner, using good French he remembered that many Austrians understood French and the young man promptly replied but in broken and fragmentary French.
The two managed to carry on a more or less connected conversation, in which several people in the compartment joined freely with scraps of English, French and German, helping out one another, as best they could, and forming a friendly group. It seemed to John that something of the ordinary stiffness pre vailing among strangers was relaxed. All of them, men and women, were moved by an unusual emotion and he readily attributed it to the war, although a great state like Austria-Hungary should not become unduly excited over a struggle with a little one like Servia.
But he let Mr. Anson do most of the talking for America, and by and by began to watch through the window again. The green of the rich country rested both eye and brain, and, a war between Aus tria-Hungary and Servia was not such a tremendous affair. There was always trouble down in that Balkan region. Trouble there, was far less remarkable than the absence of it. As for himself he wanted to see the Danube, which these careless Viennese per sisted in calling the Donau, and the fine old capital which had twice turned back the Turks, but not Na poleon.
He soon saw that they would reach Vienna long after the destined time. The stops at every station were long and the waiting crowds thickened. "I did not know so many people were anxious to see our entry into the capital," said John.
"They are numerous, but not more so than we deserve," replied Mr. Anson in the same vein.
It was midnight when they reached Vienna. John bade farewell to Kempner, his companion of the jour ney to whom he had been strongly attracted, and after : the slight customs examination drove away with Mr. lAnson to a modest hotel.
It was so late an'd he was so tired that he thought he would sleep heavily. But sleep passed him by, and it was such a rare thing that John was troubled great ly. What was the matter with him? It could not be all those sounds of shouting and singing that were floating in at the open window! He had slept many a time at home, when the crowds were cheering continuously on election night.
The noise increased, although it was at least two in the morning. He had always heard that Vienna was a gay city, and never slept, but he had scarcely expected such an ebullient night life, and, his curiosity aroused, he rose and dressed.
From his seat at the window he heard the singing much more plainly, and far down the avenue he saw columns of marching men. He could not understand the words they sang, but he knew from the beat of the music that they were Austrian and German patriotic songs, and his curiosity increasing, he went down into the street, nodding to the dozing porter who stood at the