Naturalization was, after all, a promise—well, a bargain then; what was a bargain but a mutual promise? A whole community had learnt to rely securely on such a promise; had confidently forfeited the protection and advantages of their native land, in favour of an adopted country. And now if their security were repudiated on excuse of war——
“Is there any stipulating clause in the naturalization contract, making it void in the event of war, I wonder? Because if not——
“But we can’t leave enemy blood loose about the country during war-time. It isn’t safe. They might all be spies. Some of them are. And spying is the worst thing of all—abuse of hospitality. No wonder the thought of it drives people to a sort of madness——”
He took up the evening edition—flung it down again; too dark to read anything but the headlines: “More Anti-German Riots”——
... Someone crouching low in the corner by the cupboard. A patch of white. A face—mad-frightened.... “Ach, bitte——”... The little German baker.—Or ... no—the face had changed—it was Richard himself, staring panic-stricken, yet reproachfully, at that other Richard who was leading against him a hostile mob:
“He’s a German!”
“And so am I—and so am I——”
It had stabbed through to the brain at last.
“I’m not a German. It’s a lie. I’m not. I hate the Germans. They have drowned Ethel Ann ... Ethel Ann....”