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.
"That is all right, Doctor," said the Sergeant, despite the Calvinism of generations beating in his heart, "it is hard on them, but there is nobody compelling them here to drink and fight like a lot of brutes." "But who is to teach them any better ?" said the doctor.
"Come on," said the Sergeant, "who is this ?" pointing to the dark-bearded man lying in the corner.
"Dis man," said Jacob, "strange man." "Any of you know him here ?" asked the Sergeant.
There was a murmur of voices.
"What do they say ?" "No one know him.

He drink much beer.