J. S. MACHAR
relations they had established with the outside world, and had been read to them in number 62, our trio returned in a state of considerable indignation. I was sitting on my bed and reading Julius Caesar; Mr. Fels begged my pardon for interrupting me, but they wanted to tell me about it, so that I could judge for myself. The clerk who had read their replies to them had intentionally employed a Jewish accent in such a way that the thing was a scandal. And to think that these were the words of their wives, messages from their children.
"And this clerk is a volunteer, an educated man" remarked Mr. Goldenstein.
"And a Jew himself, assuredly a Jew“ added Mr. Frohlich excitedly.
"If you had heard how he read to Mauthner: “Es küsst dich ewig deine Lene" said Mr. Fels, warming up.
"Or to me: Moritzchen ist brav und Alfred lernt fleissig,—you know, I really thought I would tell him about it" said Mr. Fröhlich angrily.
"And didn't anybody say anything to him at all? Didn't you interrupt him?"
"Interrupt him? We should only have made our position worse."
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I see that I have passed over a number of days in my narrative. One resembled the other, all were as grey as the dust on the high road, each one seemed to be endless, and yet, when one looks back at them, they vanished as quickly as if somebody had lashed them with a whip. Dušek was right,—long days, but short weeks.
I had visitors.
My wife arrived from Prague. Dr. Frank in measured tones offered her a chair, and then sat down with us to complete the triangle, and listened. She was calm and I was grateful to her for it. "They" must not see signs of weakness in any of us. She informed me that
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