The chieftains maintained silence. Some nodded assent. Hans Shund gave an angry bite to his pipe-stem, and puffed a heavy cloud of smoke across the table.
"I have confidence in the enlightenment and good sense of our people," said he. "You have called modern progress 'a pernicious superstition and an unhealthy tendency of the times,' Mr. Gerlach," turning towards the millionaire with a bow. "I regret this view of yours."
"Which I have substantiated and proved," interrupted Gerlach.
"True, sir! Your proofs have been striking, and I do not feel myself competent to refute them. But I can point you to something more powerful than argument. Look at this scene; see these happy people meeting and enjoying one another's society in most admirable harmony and order. Is not this spectacle a beautiful illustration and vindication of the moral spirit of progress?"
"These people are jubilant from the effect of beer, why shouldn't they be? But, sir, a profound observer does not 'suffer himself to be deceived by mere appearances.'"
An uproar and commotion at a distance interrupted the millionaire. At the same instant a policeman approached out of breath.
"Your honor, the factorymen and the laborers are attacking one another!"
"What are you raising such alarm for," said Hans Shund gruffly. "It is only a small squabble, such as will occur everywhere in a crowd."
"I ask your honor's pardon: it is not a small squabble, it is a bloody battle."
"Well, part the wranglers."