[The Dutch youth laughs, and goes through the motions of raising the window.  The English regard the operation with uneasy irritation.  The German opens his bag, which reposes on the corner seat next him, and takes out a book.]

American.  The Germans are great readers.  Very stimulating practice.  I read most anything myself!

     [The German holds up the book so that the title may be read.]

“Don Quixote”—­fine book.  We Americans take considerable stock in old man Quixote.  Bit of a wild-cat—­but we don’t laugh at him.

German.  He is dead.  Dead as a sheep.  A good thing, too.

American.  In America we have still quite an amount of chivalry.

German.  Chivalry is nothing ‘sentimentalisch’.  In modern days—­no good.  A man must push, he must pull.

American.  So you say.  But I judge your form of chivalry is sacrifice to the state.  We allow more freedom to the individual soul.  Where there’s something little and weak, we feel it kind of noble to give up to it.  That way we feel elevated.

[As he speaks there is seen in the corridor doorway the little man, with the woman’s baby still on his arm and the bundle held in the other hand.  He peers in anxiously.  The English, acutely conscious, try to dissociate themselves from his presence with their papers.  The Dutch youth laughs.]

German.  ‘Ach’!  So!

American.  Dear me!

Little man.  Is there room?  I can’t find a seat.

American.  Why, yes!  There’s a seat for one.

Little man. [Depositing bundle outside, and heaving baby] May I?

American.  Come right in!

     [The German sulkily moves his bag.  The little man comes in and
     seats himself gingerly.]

American.  Where’s the mother?

Little man. [Ruefully] Afraid she got left behind.

     [The Dutch youth laughs.  The English unconsciously emerge from
     their newspapers.]

American.  My!  That would appear to be quite a domestic incident.

[The Englishman suddenly utters a profound “Ha, Ha!” and disappears behind his paper.  And that paper and the one opposite are seen to shake, and little sguirls and squeaks emerge.]

German.  And you haf got her bundle, and her baby.  Ha! [He cackles drily.]

American. [Gravely] I smile.  I guess Providence has played it pretty low down on you.  It’s sure acted real mean.

[The baby wails, and the little man jigs it with a sort of gentle desperation, looking apologetically from face to face.  His wistful glance renews the fore of merriment wherever it alights.  The American alone preserves a gravity which seems incapable of being broken.]

American.  Maybe you’d better get off right smart and restore that baby.  There’s nothing can act madder than a mother.