He was a big, fine looking fellow of about forty. He had black hair and a piercing black eye, a typical Prussian, for it was from that province in Germany that his parents had migrated some twenty-five years previously. He was a powerful man, standing nearly six feet in height, and not yet showing any tendency towards stoutness, so common among Germans. "Hello, Karl," cried Bob cheerily. Hoffmann stopped short. His face had been drawn into a scowl as he strode along, and he had been deeply engrossed in his own thoughts. Bob had often seen him that way after talking with Lena, however. She was something of a flirt and received lightly her admirers' advances. Many a time both Heinrich and Karl had been driven almost to desperation by the manner in which she treated them. Neither did they like each other, because they were rivals. "Hello there, Bob," he exclaimed, his face brightening. Bob had always been a marked favorite of his, and many a thing he had showed him about the machinery at the factory. "You look mad," said Bob. "I was sort of mad," said Karl. "I was worried." "Anything I can do for you?" Bob inquired, nudging Hugh with his elbow. He loved to tease both Karl and Heinrich about their love affair. "No, thanks," replied Karl seriously. "It will be all right I hope." "I hear you're making ammunition down at the factory," said Bob. "Yes." "Keeps you pretty busy, doesn't it?" "It certainly does. We're going to work both a night and day shift next week." "You want to watch out for some of these bomb plotters," said Bob. "There are a lot of them around here, I understand." "That so?" exclaimed Karl. "I hadn't heard of any." "Well, they're here all right." "We have the plant guarded, you know." "I know it. It's a good thing too." "I think it's unnecessary," said Karl. "I told your father so, too." "You're more of an optimist than he is, I guess," laughed Bob. "He's heard a lot of things that have made him sort of nervous." "That so?" demanded Karl. "I wonder what they were?" "I don't know," Bob lied. He thought that if his father wanted to tell his employees any details he would probably do so himself. Just then Hugh plucked his sleeve. "Look, Bob," he exclaimed. "Here comes Frank in to see you." Bob swung around just in time to see Frank Wernberg on a bicycle turning into the driveway. He rode a few yards and then suddenly turned around and rode out again. Coming to the street once more he dismounted from his bicycle, and gazed back at the Cooks' house as if he was debating whether he should go in or not. Finally, however, he seemed to decide against that course and jumping on his wheel rode off down the street. "He lost his nerve," exclaimed Hugh. "You ought to have called to him." "A fine chance of that," snorted Bob. "If he wants to he can come in here and see me, but I won't run after him." "Who was that boy?" asked Karl curiously. "Frank Wernberg," said Bob.