At the last minute the committee in charge of the airship had fallen out as to where they should fly first, over the French or over the Germans, without offending either of the belligerents. It ended in a tremendous row, with every one calling every one else a pro-German or a pro-Frenchman and going home.
At the vaudeville shows, in the smokers of trains, in the joke columns Brooks’ name appeared frequently. It was a by-word and a signal for laughter. For one person to say to another:
“Say, I see you’ve got a new set of rubber doughnuts on your car,” was a cue for uproarious laughter—rubber doughnuts of course meaning “babbling brooks.”
For all these reasons the mention of Brooks’ name caused Hamilton to smile involuntarily. He waved his hand in a deprecating gesture.
“Of course that strikes you as funny,” said Dorothy, “but Brooks has standing—any man with so much money has. Of course he has no culture, in fact is an ignoramus, but he has money and can hire brains. Men will do anything for money.”
Hamilton laughed.
“Hope I’ve heard my last Brooks joke,” he said. “But where did you get all this information?”
“Some of it from Dr. Levin. Some of it—”
“Oh, I see,” he interrupted. “Dr. Levin. Probably a little sensitive. I’ve noticed most Jews are. Even in my company. You say something about English or Irish or Italian and nobody minds. You even say ‘wop’ and an Italian grins good naturedly. But the minute you say something, anything, good or bad, about the Jew, they’re all ears and eyes—all on edge. I think Dr. Levin’s probably supersensitive.”
Hamilton refused to take the matter seriously. At the same time he wondered why she brought Dr. Levin’s name so often into the conversation. She had learned this from Dr. Levin, and that. She quoted him and sometimes even held him up as an example.