“Sit down, FrÖhling, sit down!”

The old barber, rather to his surprise, had been invited to follow his host into the Hegners’ private parlour, a little square room situated behind the big front shop.

The floor of the parlour was covered with a large-patterned oilcloth. There was a round mahogany pedestal table, too large for the room, and four substantial cane-backed armchairs. Till to-day there had always hung over the piano a large engraving of the German Emperor, and on the opposite wall a smaller oleograph picture of Queen Victoria with her little great-grandson, the Prince of Wales, at her knee. The German Emperor had now been taken down, and there was a patch of clean paper marking where the frame had hung.

As answer to Mr. Hegner’s invitation, the older man sat down heavily in a chair near the table.

Both men remained silent for a moment, and a student of Germany, one who really knew and understood that amazing country, might well, had he seen the two sitting there, have regarded the one as epitomising the old Germany, and the other—naturalised Englishman though he now was—epitomising the new. Manfred Hegner was slim, active, and prosperous-looking; he appeared years younger than his age. Ludwig FrÖhling was stout and rather stumpy; he seemed older than he really was, and although he was a barber, his hair was long and untidy. He looked intelligent and thoughtful, but it was the intelligence and the thoughtfulness of the student and of the dreamer, not of the man of action.

“Well, Mr. FrÖhling, the International haven’t done much the last few days, eh? I’m afraid you must have been disappointed.” He of course spoke in German.

“Yes, I have been disappointed,” said the other stoutly, “very much disappointed indeed! But still, from this great crime good may come, even now. It has occurred to me that, owing to this war made by the great rulers, the people in Russia, as well as in my beloved Fatherland, may arise and cut their bonds.”

A light came into the speaker’s eyes, and Manfred Hegner looked at him in mingled pity and contempt. It was not his intention, however, to waste much time this evening listening to a foolish old man. In fact, he had hesitated as to whether he should include the FrÖhlings in his invitations—then he had thought that if he omitted to do so the fact might possibly come to the ears of the Dean. FrÖhling and the Dean had long been pleasantly acquainted. Then, again, it was just possible—not likely, but possible—that he might be able to get out of the ex-barber of the Witanbury garrison some interesting and just now valuable information.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked. “Have you made any plans yet?”

“We are thinking of going to London, and of making a fresh start there. We have friends in Red Lion Square.” FrÖhling spoke as if the words were being dragged out of him. He longed to tell the other man to mind his own business.

“You haven’t a chance of being allowed to do that! Why, already, on the very first day, every German barber is suspected.” The speaker gave a short, unpleasant laugh.

“I am not suspected. So!” exclaimed FrÖhling heatedly. “Not one single person has spoken as if he suspected me in this town! On the contrary, England is not harsh, Mr. Hegner. English people are too sensible and broad-minded to suspect harm where there is none. Indeed, they are not suspecting enough.”

Strange to say, old FrÖhling’s last sentence found an agreeable, even a comforting, echo in Mr. Hegner’s heart. He looked up, and for the first time the expression on his face was really cordial. “Maybe you are right, Mr. FrÖhling. Most heartily do I desire it may be so! And yet—well, one cannot say people would be altogether wrong in suspecting barbers, for barbers hear a great deal of interesting conversation, is it not so?”

“That depends on their customers,” said the other coldly. “I cannot say that I ever found the conversation of the young English officers here in Witanbury very illuminating.”

“Not exactly illuminating,” said the other cautiously. “But take the last few days? You must have heard a good deal of information as to coming plans.”

“Not one word did I hear,” said the other man quickly—“not one word, Mr. Hegner! Far more from my own intelligent, level-headed German assistant. He knew and guessed what none of these young gentlemen did—to what all the wicked intrigues of Berlin, Petersburg and Vienna, of the last ten days were tending.”

“I have heard to-night—in fact it was the daughter of the Dean who mentioned it—that the British Army is going to Belgium,” said Mr. Hegner casually. “Is your son going to Belgium, Mr. FrÖhling?”

“Not that I know of,” said the other. But a troubled look came over his face. He opened his mouth as if to add something, and then tightly shut it again.

Mr. Hegner had the immediate impression that old FrÖhling could have told him something worth hearing had he been willing to do so.

“Well, that is all,” said the host with a dismissory air, as he got up from his seat. “I have many to see, many to advise to-night. One thing I do tell you, Mr. FrÖhling. You may take it from me that if you wish to leave this place you should clear out quickly. They will be making very tiresome regulations soon—but not now, not for a few days. Fortunately for you, and for all those who have not taken out their certificates, there is no organisation in this country. As for thoroughness, they do not know the meaning of the word.”

“I have sometimes wondered,” observed Mr. FrÖhling mildly, “why you, who dislike England so much, should have taken out your certificate, Mr. Hegner. In your place I should have gone back to America.”

“You have no right, no business, to say that I dislike England!” cried his host vehemently. “It is a wicked thing to say to me on such a day as this! It is a thing that might do me great harm in this city of which I am a Councillor.”

“It is not a thing that I should say to any one but you,” returned the old man. “But nevertheless it is true. We have not very often met—but every time we have met you have spoken in a disagreeable, a derogatory, a jeering way of what is now your country.”

“And you,” said Mr. Hegner, his eyes flashing, “have often spoken to me in a derogatory, a jeering, a disagreeable way of Germany—of the country where we were each born, of our real Fatherland.”

“It is not of Germany that I speak ill,” said the older man wearily; “it is of what a few people have made of my beloved country. To-day we see the outcome of their evil doings. But all that is transitory. I am an old man, and yet I hope to see a free Germany rise up.”

He walked through into the shop, and beckoned to his wife. Then they both turned towards the door through which they had gained admittance earlier in the evening.

Mr. Hegner smoothed out his brow, and a mechanical smile came to his lips. He was glad the old Socialist had cleared out early. It is not too much to say that Manfred Hegner hated FrÖhling. He wondered who would get the German barber’s job. He knew a man, a sharp, clever fellow, who like himself had lived for a long time in America—who was, in fact, an American citizen, though he had been born in Hamburg—who would be the very man for it. Perhaps now was scarcely the moment to try and get yet another foreigner, even if only this time an American, into the neighbourhood of the barracks.

The owner of the Witanbury Stores went over to the place where Anna Bauer was sitting talking to the mother of one of Mr. Hegner’s German employÉs. To call that young man German is, however, wrong, for some six weeks ago he had become naturalised. Well for him that he had done so, otherwise he would have had now to go back to the Fatherland and fight. His mother was the one really happy person in the gathering to-night, for the poor woman kept thanking God and Mr. Hegner in her heart for having saved her son from an awful fate. Treating the mother of his shopman as if she had not been there, Mr. Hegner bent towards the other woman.

“Frau Bauer,” he said graciously, “come into our parlour for a few moments. I should like a little chat with you.”

Anna got up and followed him through the crowd. What was it Mr. Hegner wanted to say to her? She felt slightly apprehensive. Surely he was going to tell her that now, owing to the war, he would have to stop the half-commission he was still giving her on Mrs. Otway’s modest orders? Her heart rose in revolt. An Englishman belonging to the type and class of Anna Bauer would have determined “to have it out” with him, but she knew well that she would not have the courage to say anything at all if he did this mean thing.

To her great surprise, after she had followed him into the parlour, Mr. Hegner turned the key in the lock.

“I have but a very little to say,” he exclaimed jovially, “but, while I say it, I do not care to be interrupted! It is more cosy so. Sit down, Frau Bauer, sit down!”

Still surprised, and still believing that her host was going to “best” her in some way, Anna did sit down. She fixed her light-blue, short-sighted eyes watchfully on his face. What a pity it was that he so greatly resembled her adored Kaiser!

“You are very kind,” she said mechanically.

“I believe that last Sunday, August 1st, there was owing to you this sum.” So saying, he pushed towards her across the table five half-sovereigns.

Anna Bauer uttered an exclamation of profound astonishment. She stared down at the money lying now close to her fat red hand.

“Is not that so?” he said, looking at her fixedly.

And at last she stammered out, “Yes, that is so. But—but——do you then know Willi, Mr. Hegner?”

The man sitting opposite to her remained silent for a moment. He hadn’t the slightest idea who “Willi” was. “Ach, yes! It is from him that you generally receive this money every six months—I had forgotten that! Willi is a good fellow. Have you known him long?” He wisely waited for a reply, for on his tongue had been the words, “I suppose he lives in London?”

“I have only known him three years,” said Anna, “and that though he married my niece seven years ago. Yes, Willi is indeed an excellent fellow!”

And then she suddenly bethought herself of what Mrs. Otway had said that very morning. Mr. Hegner would certainly be able to tell her the truth—he was the sort of man who knew everything of a practical, business nature. “Perhaps you will be able to tell me,” she asked eagerly, “if my nephew will have to fight—to go to the frontier. Mrs. Otway, she says that the police are always the last to be called out—is that true, Mr. Hegner?”

“Yes, I think I may assure you, Frau Bauer, that it is a fact.” He looked at her curiously. “You are very fond, then, of your niece’s husband, of the excellent Willi?”

“I am indeed,” she said eagerly, “and grateful to him too, for this money he sends me is very welcome, Mr. Hegner. I was so afraid it might not come this time.”

“And you were right to be afraid! It will become more and more difficult to get money from Germany to England,” said her host, and there was a touch of grimness in his voice. “Still, there are ways of getting over every difficulty. Should the war last as long, I will certainly see that you, Frau Bauer, receive what is your due on the 1st of next January. But many strange things may happen before then. Long before Christmas you may no longer be earning this money.”

“Oh! I hope that will not be the case!” She looked very much disturbed. £5 a year was about a fifth of good old Anna’s total income.

“Well, we shall see. I will do my best for you, Frau Bauer.”

“Thank you, thank you! I am very grateful to you, Mr. Hegner.”

Indeed old Anna’s feelings towards the man who sat there, playing with a pen in his hand, had undergone an extraordinary transformation. She had come into the room disliking him, fearing him, feeling sure that he was going to take some advantage of her. Now she stared at his moody, rather flushed face, full of wondering gratitude.

How strange that he had never taken the trouble to tell her that he knew Willi! She was sorry to remember how often she had dissuaded her mistress from getting something at the Stores that could be got elsewhere, some little thing on which the tiny commission she received would have been practically nil, or, worse still, overlooked. Her commission had been often overlooked of late unless she kept a very sharp look-out on the bills, which Mrs. Otway had a tiresome habit of locking away when receipted.

She took the five precious gold pieces off the table, and moved, as if to rise from her chair.

But Mr. Hegner waved his hand. “Sit down, sit down, Frau Bauer,” he said. “There is no hurry. I enjoy the thought of a little chat with you.” He waited a moment. “And are you thinking of staying on in your present position? You are—let me see—with Mrs. Otway?”

“Oh yes,” she said, brightening. “I shall certainly stay where I am. I am very happy there. They are very kind to me, Mr. Hegner. I love my young lady as much as I do my own child.”

“It is a quiet house,”rdquo; he went on, “a quiet house, with very little coming and going, Frau Bauer. Is not that so?”

“There is a good deal of visiting,” she said quickly. “It is a hospitable house.”

“Not often gentlemen of the garrison, I suppose?”

“Indeed, yes,” cried Anna eagerly. “You know how it is in England? It is not like in our country. Here everybody is much more associated. In some ways it is pleasanter.”

“Very true. And had any of these officers who came and called on your two ladies reason to suppose that the war was coming?”

Anna stared at him, surprised. “No, indeed!” she cried. “English officers never talk of warlike subjects. I have never even seen one of them wearing his uniform.”

“It looks to me as if I shall have to add a new line of officers’ kit to the Stores,” said Mr. Hegner thoughtfully. “And any information you give me about officers just now might be very useful in my business. I know, Frau Bauer, that you were annoyed, disappointed about that little matter of the commission being halved.”

“Oh no,” murmured Anna, rather confusedly.

“Yes, and I understand your point of view. Well, from to-day, Frau Bauer, I restore the old scale! And if at any time you can say anything about the Stores to the visitors who come to see your ladies—anything, you understand, that may lead to an order—I will be generous, I will recognise your help in the widest sense.”

Anna got up again, and so did her host. “Well, we have had a pleasant gossip,” he said. “And one word more, Frau Bauer. You have not told any one, not even your daughter, of—of——” he hesitated, for he did not wish to put in plain words the question he wished to convey—“of that other matter—of that in which your nephew is concerned?”

“I gave my solemn promise to Willi to say nothing,” said Anna, “and I am not one who ever breaks my word, Mr. Hegner.”

“That I am sure you are not! And Frau Bauer? Do not attempt to write to the Fatherland henceforth. Your letters would be opened, your business all spied out, and then the letters destroyed! I am at your disposal for any information you require. Come in and see us sometimes,” he said cordially. “Let me see—to-day is Wednesday. How about Sunday? Come in on Sunday night, if you can do so, and have a little supper. You may have news of interest to my business to give me, and in any case it is pleasant to chat among friends.”