"Well, you see, Mr. Koerner, as I explained to you,"--Marriott set himself to the task of explaining the latest development in the case; he tried to present the proceedings in the Appellate Court in their most encouraging light, but he was conscious that Koerner understood nothing save that there were to be more delays. "But we must be patient, Mr. Koerner," he said. "It will come out all right." Koerner made no reply. To Marriott his figure was infinitely pathetic. He looked at the great face, lined and seamed; the eyes that saw nothing--not the little yard before them where the turf was growing green, not the blackened limbs of a little maple tree struggling to put forth its leaves, not the warm mud glistening in the sun, not the dirty street piled with ashes, not the broken fence and sidewalk, the ugly little houses across the street, nor the purple sky above them--they were gazing beyond all this. Marriott looked at the old man’s lips; they trembled, then they puckered themselves about the stem of his pipe and puffed automatically. Marriott, hanging his head, lighted a cigarette. "Mis’er Marriott," Koerner began presently, "I been an oldt man. I been an hones’ man; py Gott! I vork hardt efery day. I haf blenty troubles. I t’ink ven I lose dot damned oldt leg, I t’ink, vell, maybe I get some rest now bretty soon. I say to dot oldt leg: ’You bin achin’ mit der rheumatiz all dose year, now you haf to kvit, py Gott!’ I t’ink I get some rest, I get some dose damages, den maybe I take der oldt voman undt dose childer undt I go out to der oldt gountry; I go back to Chairmany, undt I haf some peace dere. Vell--dot’s been a long time, Mis’er Marriott; dot law, he’s a damn humpug; he’s bin fer der railroadt gompany; he’s not been fer der boor man. Der boor man, he’s got no show. Dot’s been a long time. Maybe, by undt by I die--dot case, he’s still go on, huh?" The old man looked at Marriott quizzically. "Vell, I gan’t go out to der oldt gountry now any more. I haf more drouble--dot poy Archie--vell, he bin in drouble too, and now my girl, dot Gusta--" The old man’s lips trembled. "Vell, she’s gone, too." A tear was rolling down Koerner’s cheek. Marriott could not answer him just then; he did not dare to look; he could scarcely bear to think of this old man, with his dream of going home to the Fatherland--and all his disappointments. Suddenly, the spring had receded again; the air was chill, the sun lost its warmth, the sky took on the pale, cold glitter of the days he thought were gone. He could hear Koerner’s lips puffing at his pipe. Suddenly, a suspicion came to him. "Mr. Koerner," he asked, "why aren’t you smoking?" The old man seemed ashamed. "Tell me," Marriott demanded. "Vell--dot’s all right. I hain’t--chust got der tobacco."