“He looks sickish,” said Mrs. Savage grimly. “He looks as if he were beginning a serious illness. Well people don’t sit with their heads down like that. What is the matter with you, Daniel?” “Nothin’,” he said. “I told you I’m all right.” “He isn’t though,” Mrs. Savage insisted, addressing the others. “Do you know what’s the matter with him, Harlan?” “Too much glue, I expect.” “What?” “Too much glue,” Harlan repeated. “He was playing with a lot of nasty glue and paint all afternoon, and I expect the smell’s made him sick. Too much glue and too much Jew.” “Jew?” his grandmother inquired. “What do you mean by ‘too much Jew,’ Harlan?” “He had a dirty little bow-legged Jew playing with him.” “See here!” Dan said huskily, but he did not look up. “You be careful!” “Careful of what?” Harlan inquired scornfully. “Careful of what you say.” “Daniel, were you playing with a Jew?” his grandmother asked. “Yes, I was.” He still did not look up, but his voice had a tone, plaintive and badgered, that attracted the attention of his grandfather, and the old gentleman interposed soothingly: “Don’t let ’em fret you, Dannie. It wasn’t particularly wicked of you to play with a Jew, I expect.” “No,” said Dan’s father. “I don’t believe I’d let myself be much worried over that, if I were you, Dan.” “No?” said Mrs. Savage, and inquired further, somewhat formidably: “You don’t prefer your sons to choose companions from their own circle, Henry Oliphant?” “Oh, yes, I do, ma’am,” he returned amiably. “As a general thing I believe it’s better for them to be intimate with the children of their mother’s and father’s old family friends; but at the same time I hope Dan and Harlan won’t forget that we live in a country founded on democratic principles. The population seems to me to begin to show signs of altering with emigration from Europe; and it’s no harm for the boys to know something of the new elements, though for that matter we’ve always had Jews, and they’re certainly not bad citizens. I don’t see any great harm in Dan’s playing a little with a Jewish boy, if he wants to.” “I wasn’t playin’,” Dan said. “Weren’t you?” his father asked. “What were you doing?” “We were—we were manufacturing. We were manufacturing useful articles.” “What were they?” “Ornamental brackets to nail on walls and put things on. We were goin’ to make good money out of it.” “Well, that was all right,” Mr. Oliphant said genially. “Not a bad idea at all. You’re all right, Dannie.” Unfortunately, a word of sympathy often undermines the composure of the recipient; and upon this Dan’s lower lip began to quiver, though he inclined his head still farther to conceal the new tokens of his agitation. He was not aided by his coolly observant young brother. “Going to cry about it?” Harlan asked, quietly amused.