Americans. In fact, their own attitude was in no small way responsible for the Americans’ opinion of the “foreigners.”
The Germans intermarried extensively with the native American stock—a commingling made possible by their Protestantism and their unvarying practicality. The German lad invariably took his new wife to a home as good as or better than the one she had come from, and he was always ready and able to assist an impecunious in-law. The German girls were always well-doweried. But they were known to be such excellent housekeepers and mothers that they would have married the best catches anyway.
Philo Barkley once said that if all the Germans, of direct or collateral descent, were removed from the valley, it would not be worth a white man’s staying.
The Germans received papers and periodicals in their own language from abroad, but they were meticulous about subscribing to American national and local publications; so no one objected. Nor did anyone object to their maintaining their own school, where German and German history were major subjects. It saved the county just that much money, didn’t it? And anyone knew that the German schools were better than ours.
The German schoolmaster was a college graduate, and he spoke five languages fluently. He wasn’t like these silly girls who graduated from the eighth grade, went to normal school for six months, and came back to teach. Just what his salary was no one knew, but judging from his appearance and his standard of living, it was more than adequate. And it was paid in cash—not warrants.
It wasn’t quite noon when Courtland reached the Wilhelm Deutsch farm, but knowing his farmers well, he drove into the yard anyway.
A couple of the smiling Deutsch boys took his horse to the barn for water, feed, and a currying; and fat, beaming old Wilhelm led him into the parlor. The German parlor was not a place for funerals and weddings. They used it every day.
A yellow-haired girl in a spotless house dress served them beer, and another brought in a box of excellent cigars. Without lowering themselves, the family let it be known that they were honored by his presence. Courtland’s reserve melted sufficiently to allow him to tell a story that had become legend in the county:
An old German couple had come into the bank to buy a farm, and they had brought the purchase price, ostensibly, of thirty-five thousand dollars in a gunny sack. When the money was counted, however, it was found to be two thousand dollars short, and the old couple looked at each other in consternation.
Then the old woman had broken the painful silence with a sigh of relief. “It’s all right, Poppa,” she had beamed, “I yoost brought the wrong sack.”
Wilhelm roared at the joke, although he had heard it many times.
“‘I yoost brought the wrong sack,’” he kept repeating, appreciatively, and his jowls were still quivering with laughter as dinner was announced.
It was such a dinner as Courtland had not eaten since—well, since the last time he had stopped at the Deutsch farm. And when he finally and reluctantly departed, he felt sluggish and drowsy. Fortunately, Wilhelm had given him a bottle of applejack as a parting gift, and a few drinks of that dispelled his sleepiness.
Or, perhaps, it was not so fortunate.
He had drunk nothing for a long time and what he drank today seemed to affect him queerly. It did not make him drunk. It did something else, and it did it in such a way that he was almost wholly unconscious of it. He thought of how he had had to use fifty cents of his own money for the rig because Barkley had not given him enough for a decent outfit. And there rose in his brain an all but overpowering urge to return to the bank and tell Barkley what he thought of him. It seemed the thing that he should do, this thing that had lain so long in his subconscious, and there was no check, no safely inhibiting counterbalance for it. Only the fact that there was no place to turn
The Germans intermarried extensively with the native American stock—a commingling made possible by their Protestantism and their unvarying practicality. The German lad invariably took his new wife to a home as good as or better than the one she had come from, and he was always ready and able to assist an impecunious in-law. The German girls were always well-doweried. But they were known to be such excellent housekeepers and mothers that they would have married the best catches anyway.
Philo Barkley once said that if all the Germans, of direct or collateral descent, were removed from the valley, it would not be worth a white man’s staying.
The Germans received papers and periodicals in their own language from abroad, but they were meticulous about subscribing to American national and local publications; so no one objected. Nor did anyone object to their maintaining their own school, where German and German history were major subjects. It saved the county just that much money, didn’t it? And anyone knew that the German schools were better than ours.
The German schoolmaster was a college graduate, and he spoke five languages fluently. He wasn’t like these silly girls who graduated from the eighth grade, went to normal school for six months, and came back to teach. Just what his salary was no one knew, but judging from his appearance and his standard of living, it was more than adequate. And it was paid in cash—not warrants.
It wasn’t quite noon when Courtland reached the Wilhelm Deutsch farm, but knowing his farmers well, he drove into the yard anyway.
A couple of the smiling Deutsch boys took his horse to the barn for water, feed, and a currying; and fat, beaming old Wilhelm led him into the parlor. The German parlor was not a place for funerals and weddings. They used it every day.
A yellow-haired girl in a spotless house dress served them beer, and another brought in a box of excellent cigars. Without lowering themselves, the family let it be known that they were honored by his presence. Courtland’s reserve melted sufficiently to allow him to tell a story that had become legend in the county:
An old German couple had come into the bank to buy a farm, and they had brought the purchase price, ostensibly, of thirty-five thousand dollars in a gunny sack. When the money was counted, however, it was found to be two thousand dollars short, and the old couple looked at each other in consternation.
Then the old woman had broken the painful silence with a sigh of relief. “It’s all right, Poppa,” she had beamed, “I yoost brought the wrong sack.”
Wilhelm roared at the joke, although he had heard it many times.
“‘I yoost brought the wrong sack,’” he kept repeating, appreciatively, and his jowls were still quivering with laughter as dinner was announced.
It was such a dinner as Courtland had not eaten since—well, since the last time he had stopped at the Deutsch farm. And when he finally and reluctantly departed, he felt sluggish and drowsy. Fortunately, Wilhelm had given him a bottle of applejack as a parting gift, and a few drinks of that dispelled his sleepiness.
Or, perhaps, it was not so fortunate.
He had drunk nothing for a long time and what he drank today seemed to affect him queerly. It did not make him drunk. It did something else, and it did it in such a way that he was almost wholly unconscious of it. He thought of how he had had to use fifty cents of his own money for the rig because Barkley had not given him enough for a decent outfit. And there rose in his brain an all but overpowering urge to return to the bank and tell Barkley what he thought of him. It seemed the thing that he should do, this thing that had lain so long in his subconscious, and there was no check, no safely inhibiting counterbalance for it. Only the fact that there was no place to turn
Similar Books
