once had some uncommon stuff in him, and he claimed his own
respect for having had it, even if he had lost it now; he had his own
way of proving it too. His wife was the mirror by which he judged
himself. She was a German woman, whom he found in the city hospital; or
rather she found him, shot through the throat by the accidental
discharge of a rifle. She was just from the fatherland, and could not
speak a word of English; with his swollen head he could not speak at
all; but she watched him through it, and by the signs of that language
which is common to all nations, they managed to understand each other,
and signalized the day of his recovery by marrying. This was the pride
of Adam's whole life, and convinced him he was made capable of being
somebody; he held his wife to be a superior woman, and her appreciation
was a consolation that never left him. 'She knawed me,' he used to say,
'she saw into me better nor I did.' And though he would talk stoutly
sometimes for democracy, he had an odd notion that marrying a
Continental European gave him some sort of distinction; and all his
troubled talks with himself ended in his saying: 'Ah, well, if I'd been
born in Germany, I might been somebody.'

Adam watched for Mr. Cowles most of the forenoon, determined to ask
about his dismissal; at last the manager strolled through the shops, and
Adam made a desperate effort, and went to him. He turned short about, as
the stoker spoke.

'Mr. Cowles, was ye told to send me away?'

'Told! Who should tell me?'

'But I thought--I thought Mr. Prescott might said summut--'

'Do you suppose he concerns himself about you? I'm master here, and I
don't ask what I shall do.'

Adam took hope: 'Hev ye said sure I must go, Mr. Cowles? I've been here
so long, an' noo I'm old. I've got gray at t'mill,' touching his head as
he spoke.

'You've had your wages regular, haven't you?' said Cowles, roughly. 'I
don't inquire how long you've been here. Would I keep an old lathe that
was worn or that I had no use for, because I'd had it a good while? Stay
round to-day, if you like, and then go.'

'But eighteen dollars is nawt much to t'mill,' said Adam, humbly; 'doan'
be hard, an' gev me a chance, a chance to help mysel'! T'winter's hard,
an' I've a family!'

'Did I make your family? You should have thought of that long ago. Stand
out of the way, if you're done.'

The stoker clung to the doorpost.

'Summut else I could do--there must be summut--ye