"Why not?"
"Because I heard him mutter something in German."
"Well, lots of Hollanders can speak German, I have no doubt. I can splutter a few words myself, but not enough to hurt me. I began to pick up some from the prisoners, after we had that experience with Potzfeldt, when we realized that even a little knowledge of the Hun's talk, much as we hate him, would be of service. And so you think you heard this fellow speak German?" asked Tom, as he pretended to tie his shoe lace, to make an excuse for pausing.
"I'm sure I did," said Jack.
"What did he say?"
"Something about wishing he had a plate of metzel suppe. Of course I don't guarantee that pronunciation, but—"
"Oh, it'll do," said Tom, graciously. "Well, there's nothing very suspicious in that, though. I might wish for some wienerwurst, but that wouldn't make me a German spy."
"No. But take one other thing and you'll have to admit that there is some ground for my belief."
"What's the other thing, old top?" asked Tom, in imitation of some Englishmen.
"He was making drawings of the railroad line," asserted Jack.