"Now cut that out, Rabig," said Frank sharply. "If the President called the soldiers back, he had good reason for doing it. He knows a good deal more about what is going on than the rest of us do. He probably knew that Germany would like nothing better than to see us get mixed up in a row with Mexico and have to keep our troops on this side of the water instead of sending them over to Europe. He wasn't going to play Germany's game, and that's the reason he let up on Villa, who doesn't amount to anything anyway."
"That sounds good," returned Rabig, "but it doesn't go with me. The Americans got scared when they saw that the Mexicans meant business. Swell chance the United States would have with Germany when it can't even lick Mexico. These national guard fellows aren't fighters. They're only tin soldiers anyway."
"Tell that to Billy Waldon when he gets back and he'll make you eat your words," said Bart hotly.
"He will, eh?" retorted Rabig. "Just let him try it on, that's all."
"What are you anyway, Rabig, a German or an American?" demanded Frank.
"I was born here and I suppose I'm an American," responded Rabig. "But I couldn't help that and I'm not proud of it."
"And you can bet that America isn't proud of having you born here," said Frank scornfully. "I tell you straight, Rabig, that it won't be healthy for you to keep up that line of talk much longer."
"I don't see any one here that's going to make me stop it," sneered the bully. "Perhaps you'd like to try it."
Frank's eyes flashed and his fist clenched until the knuckles were white. Another instant and that fist would have wiped the sneer from Rabig's face. But the image of his mother rose before him, and by a mighty effort he controlled himself.
"You'll make that bluff once too often some day, Rabig," he said in an even tone.