In the moment of victory the strong arm of paternal law was interposed between the combatants and the assailant, hotly pursued by the assailed, was borne from the room in his father's arms to meet his punishment in the back yard. “Come,” Franz said, rising. “Come, let us go to my room.” And Philip followed him, hearing him mutter as he went: “Can he not wait when my friend is here?” It was a large bare apartment they entered, carpetless and curtainless, with an iron bedstead at one side and a hideously ornate stove at the other. Philip lounged down into a chair, searching in his pocket for pipe and tobacco. Without—for the room overlooked the back yard—they could hear Bismarck and his father. The former was crying, while his parent was expostulating with him in mixed German and English, but the sounds of grief continued with no show of abatement. “He has a vile temper,” Franz said, “when he is angry. The little boys are not bad as such little beasts go.” “I think them amusing,” Philip responded. “The way in which a child profits by the presence of guests to gorge himself on dainties is a fair example of uncontrolled human nature.” Just then they heard the patter of small feet beyond the door and a faint voice saying: “I want in!” It was Bismarck, and he waited for no answer, but inserted himself ingratiatingly into the room, presenting a countenance whereon grief and gravy had combined with disastrous results. He was still sobbing but managed to gasp: “I ain't hurt. It ain't that—but I do hate to have a darned old foreigner bang me about—it hurts my feelings!” And he made a dive into Franz's lap, burying his head against his breast where for exactly three minutes he remained with wriggling legs a victim of keen despair. “There is Americanism for you with a vengeance, Franz,” said Philip. The three minutes having expired and native depravity having usurped the place of anguish, Bismarck was forcibly expelled from the room and withdrew to more congenial fellowship with his brothers. Philip broke the silence that succeeded Bismarck's expulsion in which they had both been actively engaged. “Well,” he said, “I haven't seen you for a whole week, Franz. However, I don't suppose you have anything good to tell me.” Franz made a savage gesture that fully expressed a large disgust. “Do you know, Franz,” Philip continued, “we haven't originated much over here except the Declaration of Independence and a beastly bargain-counter spirit in relation to the arts.” He paused a moment, then added laughingly: “One knows so much at twenty-four. I am frequently astonished at the scope of my critical capacity. It must be hereditary with me,—you know my father was a minister. They are the only class of men who enjoy the delightful privilege of unrestricted judgment. In that profession simple ignorance is not a hindrance, but rather a help.”