policemen. He and Herman had had many arguments about
policemen. Herman was not like Rudolph. He believed in law and order. He
even believed in those higher up. But he believed very strongly in the
fraternity of labor. Until the first weeks of that New-year, Herman
Klein, outside the tyranny of his home life, represented very fairly a
certain type of workman, believing in the dignity and integrity of his
order. But, with his failure to relocate himself, something went wrong
in Herman. He developed, in his obstinate, stubborn, German head
a suspicion of the land of his adoption. He had never troubled to
understand it. He had taken it for granted, as he took for granted that
Anna should work and turn over her money to him.

Now it began to ask things of him. Not much. A delegation of women
came around one night and asked him for money for Belgian Relief. The
delegation came, because no one woman would venture alone.

"I have no money for Belgians," he said. He would not let them come in.
"Why should I help the Belgians? Liars and hypocrites!"

The story went about the neighborhood, and he knew it. He cared nothing
for popularity, but he resented losing his standing in the community.
And all along he was convinced that he was right; that the Belgians had
lied. There had been, in the Germany he had left, no such will to
wanton killing. These people were ignorant. Out of the depths of their
ignorance they talked.

He read only German newspapers. In the little room back of Gustav
Shroeder's he met only Germans. And always, at his elbow, there was
Rudolph.

Until the middle of January Rudolph had not been able to get him to one
of his incendiary meetings. Then one cold night while Anna sewed by the
lamp inside the little house, Rudolph and Herman walked in the frozen
garden, Herman with his pipe, Rudolph with the cheap cigarets he used
incessantly. Anna opened the door a crack and listened at first. She was
watchful of Rudolph, always, those days. But the subject was not Anna.

"You think we get in, then?" Herman asked.

"Sure."

"But for what?"

"So 'Spencers' can make more money out of it," said Rudolph bitterly.
"And others like them. But they and their kind don't do the dying. It's
the workers that go and die. Look at Germany!"

"Yes. It is so in Germany."

"All this talk about democracy--that's bunk. Just plain bunk. Why should
the workers in this country kill the workers in another? Why? To make
money for c