careful if I were you, eh? You understand? Come and look,” he said from the window.
“What is it?”
“Egon is learning to box. Phew, he’s caught it! That’s Von Graun, see? Aha! that kid’s got some spirit!”
Prokop looked with revulsion into the yard, where a half-naked lad, bleeding from the mouth and nose, and sobbing with pain and anger, was hurling himself again and again at an older opponent, to be thrown back every time more bloody and pitiful than ever. What he found particularly revolting was that the performance was being watched by the old Prince from a bathchair, laughing for all he was worth, while Princess Willy was chatting calmly all the time with a magnificently handsome man. Finally, Egon collapsed into the sand completely stupefied and allowed the blood to pour from his nose.
“Brutes!” roared Prokop, addressing the remark to no one in particular, and clenched his fists.
“You mustn’t be so sensitive here,” said Mr. Carson. “Severe discipline. Life . . . as in the army. We don’t treat anybody gently here,” he added, so pointedly that it seemed like a threat.
“Carson,” said Prokop seriously. “Am I here . . . as it were . . . in prison?”
“Good gracious, no! You’re only in a concern which is under supervision. A powder factory isn’t quite the same sort of thing as a barber’s shop, what? You must adapt yourself to the position.”
“I leave to-morrow,” Prokop burst out.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Carson and slapped him
