"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 other time. Now just take my word for it, there are times when all of a sudden in a most surprising way, one finds oneself saddled with complete responsibility for a fellow-creature." Peter Schmidt laughed. "You mean, if a woman steps up to you in a crowded city street and asks you to hold her baby a moment, and never comes back for her baby?" "I'll tell you everything some other time." The train with its long, elegantly built coaches began to move slowly, though no signal of any sort had been given, no whistle or bell or word of command. Without the least to-do, it slipped out of the station wholly disregarded. Peter and Frederick were the only persons taking leave of one another in this crowded train bound inland. Peter mounted the steps, and again shook hands with Frederick. "I hope to see you soon again," each said to the other warmly. X When Frederick returned home, he learned that a number of reporters and other persons had been there inquiring for him. Webster and Forster's agent had given his address, Frederick deduced upon seeing among the reporters' cards one of Arthur Stoss's. There was also a letter from an impresario, a German of the name of Lehmann, who, failing to find Frederick in, had left a pencilled note asking whether, and under what conditions, Frederick would be prepared to deliver a medical lecture in New York, Boston, Chicago, and later other cities, in which lecture he was each time to touch upon the sinking of the _Roland_ and weave in some of his impressions of the event. "What else?" thought Frederick, disgusted, though he had to admit that he had actually become famous.