hing," Tom said, laughing and dodging the
Irishman's uplifted hand; "but I say a person is American or else he
isn't. It don't make any difference where he was born. If he's an
American citizen and he helps Germany, then he's worse than a spy--he's
a traitor and he ought to get shot."

"Be gorry, you said sumthin'!"

"He's worse than anything else in the world," said Tom. "He's worse
than--than a murderer!"

Pete slapped him on the shoulder. "Bully fer you!" said he. "Fwhativer
became uv yer fayther, lad?" he questioned after a moment.

"He died," said Tom simply. "It was after we got put out of Barrel Alley
and after I got to be a scout. Mr. Ellsworth said maybe it was
better--sort of----"

Pete nodded.

"An' yer bruther?"

"Oh, he went away long before that--even before my mother died. He went
to work on a ranch out West somewhere--Arizona, I think."

"'N' ye niver heard anny more uv him?"

"No--I wrote him a letter when my mother died, but I never got any
answer. Maybe I sent it to the wrong place. Did you ever hear of a place
called O'Brien's Junction out there?"

"It's a good name, I'll say that," said Pete.

"Everybody used to say he'd make money some day. Maybe he's rich now,
hey?"

"I remimber all uv yez when yez used fer ter worrk fer Schmitt, here,"
said Pete.

"It reminded me of that when I came along."

"Yer fayther, he used fer ter drive th' wagon fer 'im. Big Bill 'n'
Little Bill, we used fer ter call him 'n' yer bruther. Yer fayther wuzn'
fond uv worrk, I guess."

"He used to get cramps," said Tom simply.

"He used fer ter lick yez, I'm thinkin'."

"Maybe we deserved to get licked," said Tom. "Anyway _I_ did."

"Yer right, ye did," agreed Pete.

"My brother was better than I was. It made me mad when I saw him get
licked. I could feel it way down in my fingers, kind of--the madness.
That's why he went to live at Schmitt's after my father got so he
couldn't work much. They always had lots to eat at Schmitt's. I didn't
ever work there myself," he added with his customary blunt honesty,
"because I was a hoodlum."

"Wal, I see ye've growed up ter be a foine lad, jist the same," said
Pete consolingly, "'n' mebbe the lad as kin feel the tingles ter see's
bruther git licked unfair is as good as that same bruther, whativer!"

Tom said nothing, but gazed up at the windows of the apartment above the
store where the Schmitts had lived. How he had once envied Bill his
place in that home of