are striking. And when hatched out, they all have a philosophical shell. Keep on driving! Reim’ dich oder ich fress’ dich. . . .”
“Hold on?” cried the apothecary in a loud voice. “Put six kreuzers in the box! That’s the fine for talking German,” he said, turning to the trusty man.
Řehák threw a ten kreuzer piece into a tin box. “I assert,” he continued even more earnestly, “that the people are good. They are of better stuff than you will find anywhere else. How many are there of us? Count them up! And yet think of the taxes we have to pay! We do it all without a murmur, bah, what do I say? Our nation pays them with a sense of pride. It submits to discipline, and what discipline! I beg you, think of the elections in the seventies! That was a time of trial and of strength! How those hard skulls stood out like a wall against Vienna! You call this degenerated blood? The devil! Go to! The people are
