"Choe Louten iss a bedder one," continued Mr.
Farbach, turning again to stare at his chickens.

"Git owit."

"What?"

"Git owit," repeated the other, without passion,
without anger, without any expression whatsoever.
"Git owit."

The reporter's prejudice against the German
nation dated from that moment.

There were others, here and there, who were less
self-contained than the brewer. A farm-hand
struck a fellow laborer in the harvest-field for
speaking ill of Joe; and the unravelling of a strange
street fight, one day, disclosed as its cause a like
resentment, on the part of a blind broom-maker,
engendered by a like offence. The broom-maker's
companion, reading the Tocsin as the two walked
together, had begun the quarrel by remarking that
Happy Fear ought to be hanged once for his own
sake and twice more "to show up that shyster
Louden." Warm words followed, leading to
extremely material conflict, in which, in spite of
his blindness, the broom-maker had so much the
best of it that he was removed from the triumphant
attitude he had assumed toward the person of