Meantime a supremely ordinary appearing person contrived to get himself admitted to the President’s room of the Fenchester Trust Company, and introduced himself to Robert Wanser, who found his bearing, mild though it was, distinctly antipathetic. In a voice so quiet as to give the effect of being meek, the intruder ventured to advise Mr. Wanser to shun the Deutscher Club. “Go to the devil!” retorted Mr. Wanser, whose nerves had been recently frazzled by local as well as national events. “I’m giving you the opposite advice,” returned the other equably. “Keep away from the Deutscher Club.” “Save your advice for those who want it. Who are you, anyway?” “James Tilley, at your service. Sent here from Washington to help you avoid trouble.” The word “Washington” fell chill upon the banker’s ear. Nevertheless, he blustered “The Deutscher Club is my club. The Government cannot tell a private citizen to keep away from a private club.” “But a well-wisher--such as myself--may suggest that he find his amusements elsewhere.” “Well-wisher! A(c)h! Spy. Is this a free country? In Germany one would not be so oppressed.” “This is not Germany. Bear that in mind. The Deutscher Club _is_--or something like it.” “But--” “And, by the way, tell your wife--Bertha Wanser is your wife, isn’t she? Exactly! She talks too much. Propaganda. Tell her to--” “Vimmen, too!” snarled the other. “You can’t even keep your hands off vimmen. Tell her yourself.” James Tilley sighed. “I will,” he said, and departed, leaving an irritant, disconcerting and healthily prudent impress upon the mind of the grandson of ’48. As for Mrs. Wanser, she was profoundly displeased with the face, apparel, carriage, and particularly the manner of her unknown caller, which was abrupt and brusque. “You go to the motion pictures, madam,” he stated. “Yes,” she said, wondering. “On the 11th you were at the Gayety. A Four-Minute-Man spoke. You protested to the management.” “I did. I told the manager he’d lose my custom if they let such nonsense go on.” “The speaker was Professor Brender, of the University--” “A German,” she broke in. “And he gets up in public and makes shame of Germany.” “As a Four-Minute-Man he speaks with the authority of the Government. On the 14th you protested to the Orpheum.” “You been spying on me,” said the lady, wrathfully. “Certainly. You’re a suspicious person. Take my advice. Stop talking, or if you must talk, talk like an American. Propaganda is a dangerous game. Go to those two movie managers and withdraw--” “I won’t,” she declared, pale with fury. “I think you will. Ask your husband. And do as he tells you. He’ll tell you just what I have--if he’s wise.”