the last five or six years. It is only just recently that I have lost my occupation.”
Herr Selingman’s curiosity was almost childlike in its transparency, but Norgate found himself unable to gratify it. In any case, after his denial of any knowledge of the German language, he could scarcely lay claim to even the most indirect connection with the diplomatic service.
“Ah, well,” Herr Selingman declared, “opportunities will come. You have perhaps lost some post. Well, there are others. I should not, I think, be far away from the truth, sir, if I were to surmise that you had held some sort of an official position?”
“Perhaps,” Norgate assented.
“That is interesting,” Herr Selingman continued. “Now with the English of commerce I talk often, and I know their views of me and my country. But sometimes I have fancied that among your official classes those who are ever so slightly employed in Government service, there is—I do not love the word, but I must use it—a distrust of Germany and her peace-loving propensities.”
“I have met many people,” Norgate admitted, “who do not look upon Germany as a lover of peace.”
“They should come and travel here,” Herr Selingman insisted eagerly. “Look out of the windows. What do you see? Factory chimneys, furnaces everywhere. And further on—what? Well-tilled lands, clean, prosperous villages, a happy, domestic people. I tell you that no man in the world is so fond of his wife and children, his simple life, his simple pleasures, as the German.”
“Very likely,” Norgate assented, “but if you look out of the windows continually you will also see that every station-master on the line wears a military uniform, that every few miles you see barracks. These simple peasants you speak of carry themselves with a different air from ours. I don’t know much about it, but I should call it the effect of their military training. I know nothing about politics. Very likely yours is a nation of peace-loving men. As a casual observer, I should call you more a nation of soldiers.”
“But that,” Herr Selingman explained earnestly, “is for defence only.”
“And your great standing army, your wonderful artillery, your Zeppelins and your navy,” Norgate asked, “are they for defence only?”
“Absolutely and entirely,” Herr Selingman declared, with a new and ponderous gravity. “There is nothing the most warlike German desires more fervently than to keep the peace. We are strong only because we desire peace, peace under which our commerce may grow, and our wealth increase.”
“Well, it seems to me, then,” Norgate observed, “that you’ve gone to a great deal of expense and taken a great deal of trouble for nothing. I don’t know much about these things, as I told you before, but there is no nation in the world who wants to attack Germany.”
Herr Selingman laid his finger upon his nose.
“That may be,” he said. “Yet there are many who look at us with envious eyes. I am a good German. I know what it is that we want. We want peace, and to gain peace we need strength, and to be strong we arm. That is everything. It will never be Germany who clenches her fist, who draws down the black clouds of war over Europe. It will never be Germany, I tell you. Why, a war would ruin half of us. What of my crockery? I sell it all in England. Believe me, young gentleman, war exists only in the brains of your sensational novelists. It does not come into the world of real purpose.”
“Well, it’s very interesting to hear you say so,” Norgate admitted. “I wish I could wholly agree with you.”
Herr Selingman caught him by the sleeve.
“You are just a little,” he confided, “just a little suspicious, my young friend, you in your little island. Perhaps it is because you live upon an island. You do not expand. You have small thoughts. You are not great like we in Germany, not broad, not deep. But we will talk later of these things. I must tell you about our Kaiser.”
Norgate opened his lips and closed them again.
“Presently,” he muttered. “See you later on.”
He strolled to his coupe, tried in vain to read, walked up and down the length of the train, smoked a cigarette, and returned to his compartment to find Herr Selingman immersed in the study of many documents.
“Records of my customers and my transactions,” the latter announced blandly. “I have a great fondness for detail. I know everything. I carry with me particulars of everything. That is where we Germans are so thorough. See, I place them now all in my bag.”
He did so and locked it with great care.
“We go to dinner, is it not so?” he suggested.
“I suppose we may as well,” Norgate assented indifferently.
They found places in the crowded restaurant car. The manufacturer of crockery made a highly satisfactory and important meal. Norgate, on the other hand, ate little. Herr Selingman shook his head.
“My young English friend,” he declared, “all is not well with you that you turn away from good food. Come. Afterwards, over a cigar, you shall tell me what troubles you have, and I will give you sound advice. I have a very wide knowledge of life. I have a way of seeing the truth, and I like to help people.”
Norgate shook his head. “I am afraid,” he said, “that my case is hopeless.”
“Presently we will see,” Herr Selingman continued, rubbing the window with his cuff. “We are arrived, I think, at Lesel. Here will board the train one of my agents. He will travel with us to the next station. It is my way of doing business, this. It is better than alighting and wasting a day in a small town. You will not mind, perhaps,” he added, “if I bring him into the carriage and talk? You do not understand German, so it will not weary you.”
“Certainly not,” Norgate replied. “I shall probably drop off to sleep.”
“He will be in the train for less than an hour,” Herr Selingman explained, “but I have many competitors, and I like to talk in private. In here some one might overhear.”
“How do you know that I am not an English crockery manufacturer?” Norgate remarked.
Herr Selingman laughed heartily. His stomach shook, and tears rolled down his eyes.
“That is good!” he exclaimed. “An English crockery manufacturer! No, I do not think so! I cannot see you with your sleeves turned up, walking amongst the kilns. I cannot see you, even, studying the designs for pots and basins.”
“Well, bring your man in whenever you want to,” Norgate invited, as he turned away. “I can promise, at least, that I shall not understand what you are saying, and that I won’t sneak your designs.”
There was a queer little smile on Herr Selingman’s broad face. It almost seemed as though he had discovered some hidden though unsuspected meaning in the other’s words.
CHAPTER IV
Norgate dozed fitfully as the train sped on through the darkness. He woke once
