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“You must not bring that pipe in here,” he said to him. The man looked at him, steadily at first, waveringly afterwards, and went away. The time of moving was coming nearer; two or three anxious-looking persons with the usual accompaniment of pipes and cloaks, rushed up.
“ You must not come here,” said my friend; and without waiting to look, they rushed to another compartment.
Then came the smart young conductor, leading a host half-enyeloped in smoke, and additionally puffing with haste and anxiety.
“Conductor, you must not put any one here who smokes," said my friend; and the conductor cried, “Come on,” and ran to the other carriage. We set off at the moment.
I kept wondering to myself whether my solitary old companion were really a man having authority, or whether his power merely lay in a certain manner of enunciating that word must. He had been at the Great Exhibition; that was the cause, I think, of his taking me under his protection. He said, “ The religion of England is all hypocrisy."
“Not all,” I answered, half smiling at the sweeping charge.
“The state of the poor proves it,” he replied ; " it must be hypocrisy."
I felt argument was waste of words.
The train stopped at a station. A huge elderly man with the enormous cloak hanging on his shoulders, notwithstanding the heat, and with the inseparable pipe carried in his hand, brought up his mild and heavy face to the door of our carriage, opened it, and was about to enter. “You must not come in here,” cried my old friend.
The new-comer seemed for a moment about to recoil, but, with a sort of effort, plucked up all his resolution to the point of resistance.
“So-o!” he ejaculated, slowly putting one foot on the step, but without ever venturing a glance to his opponent.
“You must not come here," repeated the other, in a tone of some wonder.
“So-o-o!” said the other, still more slowly bringing the next foot up.
“You must not come in here, if you smoke,” cried my pipe antagonist, who now seemed to fight retreating.
“S0-0-0-0 !” was the prolonged rejoinder, as the hero of the pipe entered with it, as slowly as his ejaculation.
“If you smoke," urged my half-vanquished champion
"So !” briefly uttered the conqueror, as, with an expressive motion, he plumped down on the seat, never removing his large, soft, hazel eyes from my poor face, but seeming by that expressive act and word to testify à sense of relief at having overcome a mountain of difficulty, and the necessity of fixing those eyes on anything but the dictator of our carriage.
“You must not sit opposite that lady,” said my old friend, immediately.
"So-o!” was uttered again, in a different tone, and my vis-a-vis obeyed as if he were unable to resist, and moving to the other end, began to open the window.
“You must not open the window,” was the immediate declaration.
The new-comer dropped the string, heaved a lengthened “ S-0-0 !” took out a red handkerchief, and uneasily applied it to his face and forehead. . My guardian against pipes appeared mollified. . “I shall leave the train at B-4," he said; -"you must take my place then; you can open the window, if you like; but you must take care of that lady, and not let any one come in who smokes."
“But I also stop at B- " cried the other in
à tone of hasty alarm, as if he were ordered to take care of me through all my earthly way.
“Stop at B- ! who can you want at B__?"
The last comer raised his eyes, or rather withdrew them from my face, and directed them slowly to that of his combatant.
"N-a-y; n-a-y!—it is Carl Olof Westermann I want."
"I tell you that is me,” cried my friend, laying his open hand on his breast, “Carl Olof Westermann, of B—-, must be me."
“My brother! my brother !” was the cry that actually rung in my startled ears, as the other elderly man shoved over his bulky person, and threw himself on his brother's neck and wept. • To see the two old men—the youngest was nearly old—embracing and kissing each other, looking at each other in doubt, denying and acknowledging each other's identity, pushing each other back and drawing each other forward, wiping their eyes, and weeping again, was, together with the manner of their meeting in the railway carriage, one of the very drollest scenes I ever beheld.
“Ach! Karl, Karl,” said the younger,—the returned brother at last, sopping up his tears with his red handkerchief, but still clasping his brother's hand, "it was thy 'Must sent me off to America after our father's death, now nearly thirty years ago; I might have known it again when I heard it at the door. I couldn't bear it, Karl, I couldn't bear it; yet somehow I have missed it ever since."
My old friend sat, as if half stupefied, holding his new-found brother's hand, but at these words he grasped it closer, and cried, “It is little Henrich! it is little Henriech !” And then Henriech began an outline of his story.
"I have been married twice since I left you, my brother. My first wife was a good woman, ach ! a wonderfully good woman; she had her Must' too Karl, and,--and—I got used to it, and” the red handkerchief began its work again, “when she died, I missed her, and I felt then just as I had done when I first left you, and had no one to say, Henriech you must do this, or you must not do that.” He stopped. “Henriech, thou must go on!” cried the older brother in a tone that made me jump.
“ Ach! my brother ! yes, it is my own brother