"She's go avay--she's got in trouble, too."
In trouble! It was all the same to him--poverty, hunger, misfortune, guilt, frailty, false steps, crime, sin--to these wise poor, thought Marriott, it was all just "trouble."
"But it will be all right," he said, "and I'll advance you what money you need. I'll write to the warden about Archie, we'll find Gusta, and we'll win the case." He thought again--the old man might as well have his dream, too. "You'll go back to Germany yet, you'll see."
Koerner looked up, clutching at hope again.
"You t'ink dot? You t'ink I vin, huh?"
"Sure," said Marriott heartily, determined to drag joy back into the world.
"Py Gott, dot's goodt! I guess I beat dot gompany. I vork for it dose t'irty-sefen year; den dey turn me off. Vell, I beat him, yet. Chust let dot lawyer Ford talk; let him talk his damned headt off. I beat him--some day."
"I'll go now, Mr. Koerner. I'll speak to the grocer, and I'll send you something so you can have a little supper. No, don't get up."
Koerner stretched forth his hand.
"You bin a goodt friendt, Mis'er Marriott."