"Well, in spite of that he came into my office the other day with a friend of his--never been here before--and wanted to make a contract big enough to tie up that plant for three years--and who do you suppose they said it was for? Sweden! 'But, suppose you ain't able to ship to Sweden?' I asked. 'Never mind,' they said--'the contract holds--you're sure of the money.' "'Otto,' I said, 'you're lying--your friend is lying. You can't make a contract with me.' "'And that's what you call being neutral?' his friend said, with a look I didn't like. "'I never said I was neutral,' I said. I guess I swore some. 'I ain't neutral. I want to see the French in the streets of Berlin and every damned Hohenzollern on earth earning his living at hard labor, that's how neutral I am.' "Well, sir, Otto went white as death and he jumped at me as if he was going to hit me--and, well, I took him by the collar and threw him out and his friend after him. "Now, one of the reasons I am telling you this is because I want you to keep your eyes open. Otto has a lot of influence over that young fool that runs the _Argus_. I must say I like that boy in spite of his fire-eating. He'll learn and he can write--but he's all muddled on the war, and I believe it's Otto that's keeping him so stirred up against England and so friendly to Germany. Why, it's vanity and ignorance that ails him, and he'll see it one of these days all of a sudden--but you watch him, Mr. Ingraham, and watch Otto." The man stopped and sat for a long time in silence, his head dropped. When he looked up his mouth was twitching. "Otto Littman is the son of one of the best men that ever lived. He's a friend of my girl. The only boy here she ever let go out to see her. She has seen him in Europe. I guess they write sometimes. And I have quarreled with him. I have warned his own father against him. It is an awful thing to do, but, so help me, God, I can't do anything else. My girl's over there, Ingraham; I don't know as I'll ever see her again. Maybe you don't know about her. Maybe you've heard people here sneer at her--call her horsey and fast, but I tell you if there's a thoroughbred on earth it's Nancy. She was born out there at the farm, and her mother died when she came." The hard face worked convulsively and the hands gripped the arms of his chair until the brown skin showed white over the knuckles.