the wreck of the _Roland_.

"What is that? What was that?" thought Frederick. "I am wallowing in
life. How does that story concern me?"

A congestion of traffic compelled the grey to come to a halt. He champed
on his bit, tossed his head, sending flecks of foam flying from his
mouth, and looked about as if to try the heart and reins of the young
Austrian officer with his heroic, fiery eyes. During the compulsory
pause, Frederick had a chance to observe how sheafs of newspapers were
being consumed by the pressing, crushing, jostling throngs.

"The cow gobbles grass, and New York gobbles newspapers," Frederick
thought. And heaven be praised! In _The World_ that Schmidt bought of a
boy, who at risk of his life had threaded his way to the cart, there were
fresh sensations taking precedence of the _Roland_--"Explosion in a
Pennsylvania mine. Three hundred miners cut off." "Fire in a factory in
a thirteen-story skyscraper. Four hundred working-girls perish in the
flames."

"After us the deluge," said Frederick. "Coal is dear, wheat is dear, oil
is dear, but men are cheap as dirt. Mr. Boabo, don't you think our
civilisation is a fever of a hundred and six degrees? Isn't New York a
mad-house?"

But the handsome youth, after the fashion of Austrian officers, put his
hand to his cap with inimitable grace, while a decided smile, a smile of
happiness, played about the corners of his mouth, and his answer by no
means expressed assent.

"Well, I love life. Here one really lives. When there is no war in
Europe, then it is wearisome," he said, speaking in English, which most
clearly proved how distant his relation to the old continent was.

At the station, when they were standing on the platform beside the train,
Schmidt said to Frederick, wringing his hand impetuously in his German
way:

"Now, old fellow, you must soon come to see me in Meriden. Meriden is a
small place, and you can recuperate there better than here."

"I'm not altogether a free agent," Frederick replied with a faint,
fatalistic smile.

"Why not?"

"I have obligations. I am tied down."

With the indiscretion of intimacy, Schmidt asked:

"Has it anything to do with the wooden Madonna?"

"Perhaps it is something of the sort," Frederick replied. "The poor
little thing lost her father, her natural protector, and as I had a share
in her rescue--"

"Then there was a girl in a shift, and a rope ladder!"

"Yes and no. I'll tell you more about it some othe