Publisher's Synopsis
-Aye, many times, many times, - answered Old Hans, nodding. -Hundreds of times did we smoke and drink together-me and him.- -Ah, that was a glorious privilege, Hans, - said the Young Comrade fervently. -To hear him speak and touch his hand-the hand that wrote such great truths for the poor working people-I would have gladly died, Hans. Why, even when I touch your hand now, and think that it held his hand so often, I feel big-strong-inspired.- -Ach, but my poor old hand is nothing, - answered Old Hans with a deprecating smile. -Touching the hand of such a man matters nothing at all, for genius is not contagious like the smallpox, - he added. -But tell me about him, Hans, - pleaded the Young Comrade again. -Tell me how he looked and spoke-tell me everything.- -Well, you see, we played together as boys in the Old Country, in Treves. Many a time did we fight then! Once he punched my eye and made it swell up so that I could hardly see at all, but I punched his nose and made it bleed like-well, like a pig.
