“I tell you there’s nothing in your suspicion. Look at the men who’ve been here to speak for the party—as good labor men as the Federation has. You can’t suspect them of pro-Germanism; they’re for peace, I tell you, and putting an end to this infernal shell and powder making.”
Nor was it until Ralph had been in Washington to the famous August, 1915, meeting of the council and had himself heard the cynical reply of the precious rascal that was managing affairs, to the demand of honest working men for an explanation of the source of the funds that were being so lavishly used, “What if it is German money?”—that he yielded. “I’ve been a fool,” he said to Dick quite frankly when he came back, and quite as frankly he told the story of his own connection with the party in the Argus.
“The editor of this paper has never concealed his opinion of war. He considers it a senseless and brutal method of trying to settle human differences. He considers the present war in Europe an unnecessary crime in which all the nations concerned are partners. This war has nothing to do with the United States, and the efforts to involve us, whether they come from within or without, are works of the devil. Nobody who reads the Argus can doubt that this has been our opinion from the start. Thinking this, we could only look on munition making in this country as deliberate trading with the devil. Big Business never stops to consider humanity when there’s money to be made. The Argus has consistently fought the making and the selling of munitions. When a party arose which had this end, the Argus welcomed it, supported it. The Argus was a fool in doing this. Closer contact with the leaders of the party proved to the editor that a bunch of grafting Americans had persuaded a thick-headed German agent that if he’d give them money enough they’d swing this country away from England, via peace and brotherly love. This came out last week in Washington. We shook the dust of the town from our feet, as did every self-respecting farmer and laborer there, when we discovered it. The Argus is for peace, but it is not interested in pulling German chestnuts out of the fire. For whatever assistance it has given heretofore in that operation it apologizes to its readers and it assures them it was ignorance and not pro-Germanism which was behind its activities.”
There was much discussion of the editorial over Sabinsport supper tables that evening.
Dick was still in his study when the telephone rang: “Is it you, Dick?” an excited voice called. “Have you seen Ralph’s editorial? Isn’t it splendid? Isn’t it just like him, the honestest thing in the world. Just can’t be dishonest—oh, Dick, do you think I might call him up and tell him so? He despises me so. But to know he isn’t pro-German makes me so happy.”
“Call him up, by all means, Patsy,”—for it was Patsy, though she hadn’t announced herself. “He’ll be mighty pleased, I know.”
And Patsy called, but Ralph was not to be found, and an hour later her courage waned. “Maybe Dick will tell him,” and Dick did two or three days later, but Ralph only grumbled, “She evidently didn’t think enough of it to tell me so herself.”
The editorial brought out an unusually full meeting of the War Board. Ralph came in and told them all about it, and Brutus, who had “known it all the time,” hinted at revelations he’d soon be able to make. According to Brutus, this was a very insignificant activity of the German agents. He knew it to be a fact that they had vast stores of arms in New York, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Chicago, and Omaha, and that if the United States wasn’t mighty careful what she did there would be an army of thousands of Germans shutting us in our houses while German fleets bombarded the Atlantic and Pacific coasts and Zeppelins rained fire on our roofs. To which Captain Billy swore agreement.
While the discussion went on at the War Board, another went on in a speeding car, driven by Otto Littman. Otto had gone out for a spin in his little roadster—a thing he often did on hot summer nights. Across the river on the hill at a dark corner he had slowed up a bit, just enough for a man to step on the running board and into the car. Katie Flaherty, going home from Dick’s, said to herself: “The reckless creature! How did he know he was wanted? It’s a queer thing he didn’t stop. It’s Otto Littman, I’m thinkin’.”
It was indeed, and the lithe figure that had entered the running car was Max Dalberg, the “wonder of the laboratory,” whom Reuben Cowder had mentioned to Dick in his first confidence of weeks before.