Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that that was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet.
John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these people," he said.
His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they got the upper hand they would trample on all,—great and small; if he got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. One could not handle this raw uncouth mass.
The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at any moment. And it came.
They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms about and shouted. John asked what the matter was.
"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker.
"I don't believe it possible," said John.
"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag."
It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there has been a mistake?"
"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has."