ll." He had conquered
all but the English "w." He still pronounced it like a "v."

"What's the matter with the girls on this hill?" And when he smoked on
in imperturbable silence, she had flamed into a fury.

"This is free America," she reminded him. "It's not Germany. And I've
stood about all I can. I work all day, and I need a little fun. I'm
going."

And she had gone, rather shaky as to the knees, but with her head held
high, leaving him on the little veranda with his dead pipe in his
mouth and his German-American newspaper held before his face. She had
returned, still terrified, to find the house dark and the doors locked,
and rather than confess to any one, she had spent the night in a chair
out of doors.

At dawn she had heard him at the side of the house, drawing water for
his bath. He had gone through his morning program as usual, by the
sounds, and had started off for work without an inquiry about her. Only
when she heard the gate click had she hammered at the front door and
been admitted by the untidy servant.

"Fine way to treat me!" she had stormed, and for a part of that day she
was convinced that she would never go back home again. But fear of her
father was the strongest emotion she knew, and she went back that night,
as usual. It not being Herman's way to bother with greetings, she had
passed him on the porch without a word, and that night, winding a clock
before closing the house, he spoke to her for the first time.

"There is a performance at the Turnverein Hall to-morrow night. Rudolph
vill take you."

"I don't like Rudolph."

"Rudolph viii take you," he had repeated, stolidly. And she had gone.

He had no conception of any failure in himself as a parent. He had the
German idea of women. They had a distinct place in the world, but that
place was not a high one. Their function was to bring children into the
world. They were breeding animals, and as such to be carefully watched
and not particularly trusted. They had no place in the affairs of men,
outside the home.

Not that he put it that way. In his way he probably loved the girl. But
never once did he think of her as an intelligent and reasoning creature.
He took her salary, gave her a small allowance for car-fare, and banked
the rest of it in his own name. It would all be hers some day, so what
difference did it make?

But the direst want would not have made him touch a penny of it.

He disliked animals. But in a curious shame-faced f