“I wish to speak to your father,” Fritzekarl said curtly.
The mother answered in her friendly voice, “My husband is not free just now—he’s upstairs working.”
Fritzekarl attempted to keep the note of military command in his shrill young voice. “Just the same, madam, I should prefer to speak to your husband for a moment…. In the interest of your son.”
His manner was correct, in spite of his tone. He bowed slightly to the mother as he finished his masterful little speech.
“Fourteen years old!” she thought, “but the mechanism of power backs him up, and he knows it.”
The son was blushing violently. “For goodness’ sake call him!” he said, stepping toward his mother.
The father came down at once.
“Heil Hitler!” cried Fritzekarl.
“Heil Hitler!” repeated the man. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“Pardon me,” says Fritzekarl, who doesn’t get the joke, and retains his martial stare, “but your son was absent from our last practice exercises….”