Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1911-12-15
THE EMIAN,

You COMPOUNDED Polack!' snapped
Buckley, as he hustled into his office an
hour late; what makes you always keep
it so hot in here?'
Vaclav, the Bohemian bookkeeper,
reached down and closed the damper
without word. AS he did so a curious
transformation might have been noticed
in his face. The sallow cheeks lost their
oily look and slowly turned a dull red
The little sunken, piglke eyes with the
muddy whites grew larger and clearer
and seemed to expand outward, so that
the cheekbones lost their Indian-lke
prominence. The whole homey counte-
nance assumed, at word, a curious
beauty, a striking human dignity
With the mein of a connoisseur of air
his employer shifted delicately at the at
mosphere through a long, thin nose
"Faugh! Seems to me 1 can smell
garlic and sauerkraut and all kinds of
denominations in here"
To dispassionate observer it would
have been clear that Buckley was suf-
fering from an attack of morning af-
ter" and was merely discharging his ex-
ira nerves at the first convenient, safe
target.
why do You Polacks live so like pigs,
anyway he went on. It's a disgrace
to Cleveland. It's an outrage"
He never finished what he had in mind.
The small brownish hand of Vaclav took
Buckley on the right ear so that he
stumbled over the tail brass cuspidor
Have that for your 'Polack'!' cried the
| bookkeeper. Then, before Buckley
could recover a cuff on the opposite ear
knocked off his immaculate derby.
Have that for your sauerkraut,' and
I that for your 'garlic'!"
With his full strength Buckley struck
out instinctively. But his fists found
only sharp elbow bone and painfully
tough arm muscle. Then he clinched.
The pair swung across the narrow Of
| flee and crashed against the partition
| The bookkeeper did not utter a sound
but Bulkeley cursed as he struggled, un-
| til he found that it was better to save
| his breath for the battle. He was forced
| backward upon something hard This
turned hot, and he realized that he had
! been Unanswered against the stove. He
! jumped aside, and the other writhed
! from his grip.
Have that for your pig! cried Vac
Law, with crashing blow on the long,
/ bleak nose.
Buckley sat down abruptly upon the
floor and clapped both hands to his face.
You get up again." announced the
| bookkeeper, so l pay you all them "Po-
lacks all them pigs all-all, what you
call me these five years, now"
Buckley made no move. His eyes
were fixed upon the still clenched Slavic
fists with an expression of astonshment
in which kind of admiration unwill-
ingly joined.
Get up, so I'll pay you for all of
them bad jokes, them shoulder shrugs
them looks that say me I'm dirt under
feet, that deny me I'm member of hui
manity race"
The head of the business began an
angry phrase, but Vaclav interposed
Now you going to chase me out o
here, to be course. Don't bother your.
self. I'll chase myself out already. But
first you got to hear few things"
He walked over to the door, turned the
key, and slid it into his pocket
why you all time been picking al
me? On account that you're born Amer.
lean and accidentally by perchance I'm
born Bohemian? You think because o.
that l should be all time humble? l tel
you one thing; there is nobody proudel
as a Bohemian!"
With his head erect and his eyes aglov
the little bookkeeper was such a changed
being that Buckley, even in his painful
position, noticed it and was almos
startled.
The bookkeeper raised his voice a lit
tie: I'VE got good right to be proud a.
you-p'r'aps prounder."
He looked searchingly into the Ameri
cans angry eyes.
Say, l heard you went a year to col
lege. Didn't they never learn you how
Bohemian girl refused to marry Georg,
Washington? Or how a Bohemian MAJ
wouldn't come and be president of Har
ward college when they asked him."
you young Wildcat! growled Bulke
ley; 'whered you learn all that stuff
Where'd you find out how to scrap lik
this?"
WATT" commanded the bookkeeper
You see. your race knows about US
absolute nothing at all. We Bohemian
look you stupid and clumsy. But yol
Americans-if we are stupid, how ar
you? You got anybody ever wrote sucl
music like our Smetana? Didn't yo
have to get Dvorak over here to writ
the New World Symphony
: Buckley glanced across wistfuly a
the telephone, then obviously upward a