Potter looked at the table-cloth. “How does your father feel about it?” he asked.
“Dad’s an American, Potter. You never heard any of this pro-German guff out of him.... The suggestion came from him. He says this is where Americans with German parentage have to fish or cut bait. It’s his notion that we fellows have got to do more than the rest of you with unimpeachable American antecedents. ‘We’ve got to do our duty,’ Dad says, ‘and then we’ve got to double that.’”
“I wish they were all like him,” Potter said.
“I want to go—worse than I’ve ever wanted anything.... Watts is gone and so are La Mothe and Randall. Three of the old crowd.”
“If there’s anything I can do—or father can do—” Potter said.
“It’s damn hard for a fellow to have to prove he’s not a traitor.... How would you feel?”
“Maybe I can help.... Training-camps for aviators are being opened up. I think I can give you a fair start there. How would you like that?”
Kraemer’s eyes glowed. “Potter,” he said, “if you can get me past I’ll—give you my right arm when the country gets through using it.”
A club attendant approached the table. “A man named Givens is asking to see you, sir.... Says he works for you, and it’s important, sir.”
“Tell him I’ll be right down,” Potter said. Then to Kraemer, “I’ll get the papers from the Signal Corps for you so you can apply for admission. Let you know as soon as they show up.”