, and the beer-garden by
the side of the restaurant to which they went was dreary and bedraggled.
But inside the place was warm and cheerful. Inside, to all intents and
purposes, it was Germany. A most genial host crossed the room to give
Mr. Richter a welcome that any man might have envied. He was introduced
to Stephen.

"We were all 'Streber' together, in Germany," said Richter.

"You were all what?" asked Stephen, interested.

"Strivers, you might call it in English. In the Vaterland those who
seek for higher and better things--for liberty, and to be rid of
oppression--are so called. That is why we fought in '48 and lost. And
that is why we came here, to the Republic. Ach! I fear I will never be
the great lawyer--but the striver, yes, always. We must fight once more
to be rid of the black monster that sucks the blood of freedom--vampire.
Is it not so in English?"

Stephen was astonished at this outburst.

"You think it will come to war?"

"I fear,--yes, I fear," said the German, shaking his head. "We fear. We
are already preparing."

"Preparing? You would fight, Richter? You, a foreigner?"

"A foreigner!" cried Richter, with a flash of anger in his blue eyes
that died as suddenly as it came,--died into reproach. "Call me not a
foreigner--we Germans will show whether or not we are foreigners when
the time is ripe. This great country belongs to all the oppressed. Your
ancestors founded it, and fought for it, that the descendants of mine
might find a haven from tyranny. My friend, one-half of this city is
German, and it is they who will save it if danger arises. You must come
with me one night to South St. Louis, that you may know us. Then you
will perhaps understand, Stephen. You will not think of us as foreign
swill, but as patriots who love our new Vaterland even as you love it.
You must come to our Turner Halls, where we are drilling against the
time when the Union shall have need of us."

"You are drilling now?" exclaimed Stephen, in still greater
astonishment. The German's eloquence had made him tingle, even as had
the songs.

"Prosit deine Blume!" answered Richter, smiling and holding up his glass
of beer. "You will come to a 'commerce', and see.

"This is not our blessed Lichtenhainer, that we drink at Jena. One may
have a pint of Lichtenhainer for less than a groschen at Jena. Aber,"
he added as he rose, with a laugh that showed his strong teeth, "we
Americans are rich."

As Stephen's admiration