Talks

"Arthur, come here, kid. Mr. Smith, could you please get four more coffees for my friends, sir?" Dutch waved, a grand, beckoning gesture, drawing Arthur and the other three men towards his table on the second floor. He then addressed the one-armed man diligently serving at the counter.

Mr. Smith's full name was William Smith. He was a grizzled battlefield veteran, a man who had lost an arm in the brutal crucible of combat. After his discharge, the ungrateful United States Government not only failed to provide him with any assistance, any help at all, but didn't even bother to arrange a job for him.

His disability, a constant, cruel reminder of his sacrifice, rendered him unable to work, and no one, absolutely no one, would hire him. So he was forced to scavenge, to beg, to endure humiliation just to survive. Now, miraculously, Dutch had given him a job as a waiter at the Veteran Club. He earned a respectable twenty dollars a month, and the Veteran Club also provided food and lodging, making Mr. Smith's life vastly, unbelievably different from his previous, miserable existence.

"Of course, esteemed Mr. Van der Linde!" As soon as he heard Dutch's familiar call, Mr. Smith, who had been leaning against the counter, chatting and laughing with Tommy Edward, the bartender, immediately responded loudly, his voice ringing with eager gratitude. He then began to frantically urge Mr. Edward, who was responsible for pouring the drinks. "Oh, damn it, Tommy, why aren't you moving faster?! Mr. Van der Linde needs his coffee!"

"Almost there, almost there!" Tommy Edward, the bartender, was also a disabled veteran, but he had lost a leg in a devastating explosion, leaving him a cripple. Losing a hand, at least, allowed one to walk independently and pick up trash.

Losing a leg, however, meant a complete, utter loss of labor capacity in this brutal era, so Mr. Tommy Edward's life had been a continuous, agonizing struggle. After his family tragically died out, his house was ruthlessly taken over, and he completely, utterly, became a beggar, a discarded husk of a man. However, here, in this haven of hope, Dutch had given him a job pouring drinks, a job that didn't require him to move around, only to use both hands to pour, which happened to fit his physical condition perfectly, a divine intervention.

At this moment, listening to Mr. Van der Linde's simple request, Tommy wished he could wave both his hands so fast they'd leave afterimages, making coffee with the speed of light.

Shit! Mr. Van der Linde was his second parent, his greatest benefactor in this life. Now that his benefactor wanted a cup of coffee, he'd be damned if he didn't give him coffe!

Every veteran who ascended to the second floor, every new arrival, would feel incredibly emotional, marveling at Mr. Van der Linde's sheer, benevolent greatness.

They had traveled a long, arduous way, and when they first arrived, they were all profoundly uneasy, fearing that Mr. Van der Linde was merely a name without substance, a hollow promise, and that he would, in reality, embody the same hypocrisy of American politicians, the same empty words.

So, no matter how highly Mr. Van der Linde was praised, they could only be about seventy percent sure, a cautious hope, before actually coming. But every veteran who went up to the second floor felt their hearts instantly relax, their anxieties melting away, upon seeing Tommy and Smith, living proof of Dutch's compassion.

Mr. Van der Linde truly was a great philanthropist in every sense of the word! Even these grievously disabled veterans were given jobs, treated with dignity, so it was clear they, the able-bodied, would receive even more appropriate help. And clearly, this, too, was a cunning means for Dutch to put on a grand, theatrical show.

"Coffee is here, esteemed sir!" Smith respectfully placed the small tray on the table with one hand, then reached out to take the coffee from the tray for Mr. Van der Linde, his movements eager. However, before he could reach out, Dutch and Arthur had already, subtly, taken their coffees.

"Oh ho ho, alright, Mr. Smith," Dutch said, a warm, paternal smile on his face, "you don't need to be so respectful to me. Your income, your wages, are your personal labor, what you've earned, not my gift, not charity. So you don't need to humble yourself so much!"

How could Dutch miss any opportunity to rally people, to solidify their devotion? He would, of course, seize every single opportunity to say those profoundly moving words, those shit! words, that would make even a corpse feel a spark of warmth, a flicker of hope!

As expected, listening to Dutch's words, Mr. Smith was moved to tears, his face contorted with emotion. "Oh, Mr. Van der Linde, you are truly a noble man!" he choked out, his voice thick with gratitude. How could he not know that this was Dutch's comfort to him, a powerful affirmation and protection of his dignity, a balm for his wounded soul!

Seeing the gazes of the other veterans already turning towards him, their eyes wide with respect, Dutch immediately perked up, seizing the moment, and used his old, tried-and-true trick:

"Oh, Mr. Smith, your praise truly flatters me beyond measure. But as I just said, you all, every one of you, have your dignity. Your income is all what you deserve for your hard work. All I've done is give you a job, an opportunity, and that, my friend, is not worthy of such effusive praise."

The more Dutch spoke, the more profoundly moved Mr. Smith and Tommy became, tears streaming down their faces. Not only were they moved, but the veterans on the second floor, at this moment, also had expressions of extreme reverence, their inner emotions almost overflowing, their hearts swelling with gratitude.

When they were soldiers, they were considered human in the eyes of the United States Government, mere tools. But after their discharge, they had completely, utterly lost their human status, discarded like broken toys. They lived in hardship, they were at their wits' end, and they even abandoned their dignity, their very souls, just to survive. But here, in this remarkable haven, Mr. Van der Linde not only gave them a home, a place of peace, a carefree living condition, but also personally, profoundly, rebuilt their dignity, telling them, again and again, that they, too, were human!

Feeling the increasingly fervent gazes around him, Dutch did not look at their individual expressions, but instead, with a fluid movement, stood up from his seat, turning to address the entire room.

"Gentlemen, my reputation has been widely praised lately. You all say I am a noble man, a hero, a great businessman, but I do not think so, not truly." His voice resonated, echoing through the saloon.

"You have served the country, you have defied death, you have fought on the battlefield, all to provide us with a safe living environment. I believe your greatness far, far surpasses mine!

You deserve preferential treatment, you deserve a better life, not the current situation of hardship and desperation, the abandonment you've faced! I believe this situation is wrong, fundamentally wrong, which is why I have stepped forward, wanting you to receive the treatment you deserve!

Therefore, the income you receive is what you have earned, what you deserve, and you do not need to grovel before me, or before anyone! I always tell the workers in the factory this: Everyone has the right to pursue a happy life! And you, who have served your country and people, who have shed your blood, should even more so have a happy life!

As for why I offer you such generous conditions, I believe it is what I owe you, a sacred debt." Dutch's voice soared, imbued with a profound, almost religious conviction.

"Gentlemen, I have always believed that in this country, the most respectable people are not those hypocritical Senators, those pompous politicians, nor those shit! capitalist merchants, those greedy parasites, nor the false freedom and democracy they advocate, but you, the soldiers who truly defend your homes and country! You are the true heroes! The only heroes!"

Dutch's speech was impassioned, a masterpiece of rhetoric; he continuously waved his arms, making his speech appear more impactful, more appealing, more utterly captivating. As his stirring speech concluded, the entire second floor of the tavern erupted in thunderous applause, a wave of sound that shook the very foundations of the building!

"Clap clap clap…" The enthusiastic applause even drowned out the noise from the boisterous people downstairs, drawing their heads up, their expressions confused, to look. And the veterans on the second floor were all incredibly excited, standing up from their seats, clapping furiously, their hands red, and cheering wildly, their voices hoarse.

"Good! Mr. Van der Linde spoke so well! He spoke right to my heart!"

"Oh, shit! Mr. Van der Linde is the greatest man! Damn it, why isn't Mr. Van der Linde the President of the United States?!"

"Fuck! Fuck! Mr. Van der Linde, I will follow your footsteps until death!!!"

The veterans' fervent gazes had now turned into unadulterated madness! They were shouting wildly, roaring wildly, and expressing their gratitude wildly, their bodies shaking with the force of their emotion.

They wished they could literally die in front of Mr. Van der Linde, to let him see, truly see, how excited and shocked they were at this moment, how utterly devoted.

Their bent, never-before-appreciated personalities and dignity were forcefully lifted, resurrected, by Mr. Van der Linde's magnificent words!