"Yes, yes," said the President; "the roads, the roads! The Government cannot do as much there as it would like. The communes moan and groan as soon as we touch the tender place. Your Count, Herr Pölitz, is one of the worst grumblers at the Communal Assemblies!"
"Notwithstanding that he throws all the burden upon us," answered the farmer; "and he has made our lives hard enough already. Yes, sir, I say it openly; and I have said it to the Count's own face."
"And what do you think about the railroad?" asked the President, with a glance at the General.
A bitter smile came upon the farmer's face.
"What I think of it?" he returned. "Well, sir, we all had to sign the petition. It looked very well upon paper, but unfortunately we do not believe a word of it. What do we want with a railway? We have no money to spend upon travelling, and the little wool and corn that we sell when things go well, we could carry to the market at Prora in an hour and a half, if we only had a high-road, or even a good road of any sort, as we easily might have if the Count and the rest of the gentry would put their shoulders to the wheel. And then, as you know, sir, the sea is our real high-road, and will always be so; it is shorter, and certainly cheaper than the railway."
"But as to the harbour!" asked the President, again looking at the General.
"I do not understand anything about that, sir," answered the farmer; "the General will know more about it. For my part I only know that it would be very difficult to build a harbour in our sand, which is blown by the wind here to-day and there to-morrow, and that we country people and the sailors and fishermen need no harbour, whether for war or peace; and that the best and only thing for us would be just a breakwater, and a certain amount of regular dredging. Railroad, harbour, ah! yes, they will swallow up many a tree that will be cut down for them and turned into money, and many an acre of sand which is not worth sixpence now, and many an acre of good land too, on which now some poor man drags on his life in the sweat of his brow, who will then have to take his staff in his hand, and set out for America, if there is still room there for the like of us."
The man's rough voice trembled as he spoke the last words, and he passed the back of his sunburnt hand across his forehead. The President looked at the General again, but this time not inquiringly as before. The General rose from his seat, walked a few paces about the room, and went to the window which he opened.
"The messenger is a long time," said he.
"I will go and look after him," said the farmer, leaving the room.