The knotted fist of the flagman accepted the mitten and shook it warmly.
“Vell—vell—it ees the knabelein from the hilltop come to see old Fritz Grossman. A child again—it ees goot!”
He reached for a little stool, the only other piece of furniture in the room, and pushed it toward David.
“Come—take off the greatcoat and seet down. It ees long since old Fritz has had a child to see him. In summer they come sometime from the big hotel, and from the veelage they used to many come. But now—ach! Now, since the war, eet ees deefferent. Now I am the enemy—the German—and here every one hate the German!”
David felt about for something to say and repeated something he had once heard: “War makes enemies.”
“Ach, ja. But here there ees no war. Here we should all be Americans, and not hate peebles for the country where they were born. Gott in Himmel, can there not be one country kept clean of the hate!”
The blue eyes suddenly grew wet, and he blinked them hard and fast to keep the wetness from spilling over into disgraceful tears.
“Tsa! Old Fritz grow more old woman every day! I not mind but for the children not coming; and this time here and no little tongues to beg tales of the Krist Kindlein and the Weihnachtsman from old Fritz.”
David drew closer and laid a friendly hand on the flagman’s knee.
“I’d like to hear one—I’d like bully well to hear one!”