"I shouldn't be at all surprised," said Mr. Cook. "If they think we have our hands full with Germany those bandits may stir up a fuss and then troops would have to be sent down there." "And Harold might be one of them," laughed Bob. "That would be a joke, wouldn't it?" "I don't see why," cried Harold warmly. "If troops were needed in Mexico and I was one of those sent, I'd be serving my country just the same." "Of course you would," his father agreed. "It might be though that you wouldn't even get out of High Ridge." "You think they'd keep us right here?" demanded Harold, his face falling. "Possibly," said Mr. Cook. "It might be that you'd have your hands full too." "Do you think the Germans could land an army and invade this country?" exclaimed Mrs. Cook in alarm. "Not for a minute do I think that," said Mr. Cook. "Then what do you mean?" "Aren't there lots of Germans in the country already?" "Do you think they'd make trouble?" "Most of them would be peaceable enough, but some of them would only be too glad to blow up some factories, or railroads, or things like that." "They've been doing that for the last two years," said Harold, "but I don't see what there is in High Ridge." "There's my company," said Mr. Cook. He was president of the High Ridge Steel Company. "But you don't make war supplies," exclaimed Mrs. Cook. "Why should they want to blow up your plant?" "Up until now we haven't manufactured war supplies," Mr. Cook corrected. "This afternoon, however, we took a contract from the Government to make high explosive shells. And, what is more, we are going to do it at cost price so we shan't make a cent out of it." "I think that's fine," said Bob enthusiastically. "Perhaps you'll have to stay home and guard father's factory, Harold." "Do you think there'll be any danger to it?" Harold asked his father. "I don't know," replied Mr. Cook. "There are a lot of rabid Germans in High Ridge and you can't be sure just what they will do." The telephone rang at that moment and Bob excused himself to go into the next room and answer it. Dinner was now over and the rest of his family shortly followed. As they entered the sitting-room where the telephone was located, Bob was in the act of hanging up the receiver. "Who was it, Bob?" asked his mother. "I don't know; it sounded like a German's voice. At any rate he had the wrong number. He said, 'Iss dis Mr. Vernberg?'" "Oh, Wernberg," exclaimed Mr. Cook. "He's the man who moved into that house down on the corner about two years ago. Karl Wernberg is his full name and he's one of the worst of the Germans; he used to be an officer in the German army, I understand." "What do you mean 'he's one of the worst of the Germans'?" asked Harold. "Why, the way he talks against the United States and for Germany. He's made all his money here, too." "What's his business?" "Some kind of chemicals, I believe."