BOB HAS A FIGHT
Frank Wernberg was a stocky, light-haired boy with blue eyes and a pink and white complexion; that is, it was usually pink and white, though this morning his face was flushed and red. His eyes had a glint in them not usually apparent and his mouth was drawn down at the corners into a scowl. His hair, close-cropped, seemed to bristle more than was its wont; in fact his usual mild-mannered appearance had given way to one of belligerency.
"Hello, Frank," said Bob pleasantly.
"Hello," said Frank shortly.
"What's the matter?" inquired Hugh. "You seem to have a grouch."
Something was in the air and the boys felt uneasy in one another's presence. Usually they laughed and joked incessantly, and Frank Wernberg was one of the jolliest boys in the school. He was inclined to be stout and like most fat people was full of fun as a rule. This morning, however, his demeanor was far from happy.
"Why shouldn't I have a grouch?" he demanded angrily. "I've just been talking to that chump, Jim Scott. He seems to think that any one who disagrees with him must be wrong."
Bob nudged Hugh. "What was the argument?" he asked.
"The war," said Frank bitterly. "I said I thought Germany was all right, and he tried to lecture me about it. Hasn't a fellow a right to his own opinion?"
"Sure he has," exclaimed Bob. "Any one can think Germany is all right if he wants to, but no one who is an American can side with Germany against the United States at a time like this."