lination to learn of his comrades on the sea trip,
Frederick avoided reading newspapers. One day Ingigerd Hahlstroem
accompanied by a distinguished looking American by no means in his prime
got off the Boston train and went directly to Peter Schmidt's office. She
introduced herself and asked whether Frederick von Kammacher was still in
Meriden. Before he was taken ill they had exchanged letters. Later she
had had no time to write because she had been making a rapid tour of the
whole United States. She knew nothing of his illness. Peter Schmidt and
his wife, though they had an instinctive habit of always telling the
truth, a habit which interfered with their success in life, now
deliberately, shamelessly, boldly told a bare-faced lie.

"Frederick has returned to Europe. He took a White Star steamer, the
_Robert Keats_," they told Ingigerd.

Without informing anyone, Frederick had engaged passage on the _Auguste
Victoria_ for the same crossing as Miss Burns. Peter and his wife wanted
to go by a slower, less expensive steamer. They were all in a glorious
state of impatience. Once more the ocean became nothing but a small pond
across which their yearning lightly swung a bridge.

At that time a sentimental song was being sung in all the theatres in
America, entitled "Hands Across the Sea." Every bill-board, fence and
barrel bore "Hands Across the Sea." Frederick went about humming "Hands
Across the Sea." Whenever he saw "Hands Across the Sea," his soul was
stirred by a rich, beautiful melody.

But there was one thing that still prevented Frederick from enjoying
complete serenity of spirit. A single thought kept haunting him. Should
he express that thought by word of mouth or by letter? He constantly
wavered between the two impulses. Not a day passed that he did not make
ten decisions, one way or another, until one Sunday chance came to his
rescue in the form of Willy Snyders and Miss Eva Burns, who had come to
Meriden on an excursion. When he saw the lovely girl, dressed in light
summer clothes, coming towards him with a smile, he realised that "Shall
I?" or, "Shall I not?" had until then played an important role in his
deliberations. But now that question was decided.

"Willy," he cried beaming, "do what you will, go wherever you will, stay
wherever you will, amuse yourself as best you can, and at supper we'll
all meet at the hotel." He grasped Miss Eva's hand and drew her arm in
his, and she went off with him, laughing