ROSENTHAL THE JEW
HEYDEN and I paused in our conversation and, leaning our backs against the steamer's rail, listened in some amusement to an argument between a group of our fellow-passengers. That is to say, I was thoughtless enough to be amused; Leyden listened with his usual quiet consideration.
At Paramaribo there had taken passage for New York a wiry little Jew named Gonzalez. He was a cheerful little man, who was pleasing from his sincere politeness. The other passengers, especially the Dutch, had rather made a butt of his provincialism, and it seemed to me that their attitude toward him was edged with a bit of malice. Apparently they resented his claim as a fellow-countryman.
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