The Guns of Europe | Page 9

him down as a Viennese. He
knew that the Viennese, although fellow Germans, were much unlike
the Berliners, their souls being more akin to those of the French.
He could not remember at what station the young man had boarded the
train, but it was evident that he was already weary, as his head rested
heavily against the cushion and his eyelids drooped. "A good fellow,
I'm sure," said John to himself. "I'd like to know him. il hope he's going
on to Vienna with us."
They were well across the Austrian border now, and an officer came
through the train, asking for pass ports. Luckily, John and Mr. Anson
had provided themselves with such documents, not because they be
lieved them of any value, but, as John said, they always ran true to
form, and if any official paper were offered they meant to have their
share of it. Now they found these documents, considered worthless
hitherto, very useful. 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