"You vas only a leedle kid und you don'd know noddings," spouted the German. "Chermans ain'd Dutchmens; dey vas ten times as goot. You fellers can fight, heh? Vere do you keep dese fighters? I ain'd seen noddings off dem; dey vas all crawled in a hole. Und der soldiers off der Vaterlandt, dey make 'em crawl in a hole chust like dat!" and he snapped his pudgy fingers.
Roy looked at Herb, who was gazing at the big man through narrowed lids, his face turning red. The lad of pure Celtic stock felt his own blood boil and his ready tongue found release.
"Now, ain't ye got the ignorant nerve to stand right out here in America and talk like a fat tomat? De ye know that might not be quite safe everywhere?"
"Safe? Safe? Ach, I see noddings onsafe! I don't see no metals on nobotty roundt here vat iss going to make id onsafe for me. Und vat I tinks I says, heh? Und nobotty can stop me, needer!"
"Better not think too much, then, Dutchy," advised Roy.
"Say, young feller, you vas oldt enough to know bedder den to call me Dutch. I vas Cherman. Und chust you remember dot; see?"
"That's so, Germany. I guess it's an insult to the honest Dutch to call you that. By the way you fellows have been carrying on over there in Belgium, burning, looting, murdering women and children——"
"Dot vas a lie! All a lie! Newspapers, newspapers! Der American newspapers iss chust like der beeble, all liars! Und you belief 'em, py gollies, effrybotties. Efen Vilson, he ain'dt got no better——"
"Hold on, there! You're going much too far! Speak with respect of the President of the United States, or don't speak of him at all!" This came, like a shot, from Herb, and the boy's eyes flashed into the little pig's peepers of the big foreigner. A cheer went up from the crowd and Roy slapped his chum on the back.