"Go on," said the Sergeant curtly.

"Dis man Rosenblatt. Dis man Polak, Kravicz. Not know where he live."

"It would be difficult, I am thinking, for any one to tell where he
lives now," said the Sergeant grimly, "and it does not much matter
for my purpose."

"Poor chap," said the doctor, "it's too bad."

"What?" said the Sergeant, glancing at him, "well, it is too bad,
that is true. But they are a bad lot, these Galicians."

"Poor chap," continued the doctor, looking down upon him,
"perhaps he has got a wife and children."

A murmur rose among the men.

"No, he got no wife," said Jacob.

"Thank goodness for that!" said the doctor. "These fellows are a
bit rough," he continued, "but they have never had a chance, nor
even half a chance. A beastly tyrannical government at home has
put the fear of death on them for this world, and an ignorant and
superstitious Church has kept them in fear of purgatory and hell
fire for the next. They have never had a chance in their own land,
and so far, they have got no better chance here, except that they
do not live in the fear of Siberia." The doctor had his own views
upon the foreign peoples in the West.