“There were two people on that ship I got to be special friends with,” he concluded. “One was a Secret Service man named Conne; he promised to help me get a job in some kind of war service till I’m old enough to enlist next spring. The other was a feller about my own age named Archer. He was a steward’s boy. I guess they both got drowned, likely. Most all the boats got upset while they were launching them. I hope that German spy got drowned.”
“Wuz he a German citizen?” Pete asked.
“Sure, he was! You don’t suppose an American citizen would be a spy for Germany, do you?”
“Be gorry, thar’s a lot uv German Amiricans, ’n’ I wouldn’ trust ’em,” said Pete.
“Well, there’s some Irish people here that hate England, so they’re against the United States too,” said Tom.
“Ye call me a thraiter, do ye!” roared Pete.
“I didn’t call you anything,” Tom said, laughing and dodging the Irishman’s uplifted hand; “but I say a person is American or else he isn’t. It don’t make any difference where he was born. If he’s an American citizen and he helps Germany, then he’s worse than a spy—he’s a traitor and he ought to get shot.”
“Be gorry, you said sumthin’!”
“He’s worse than anything else in the world,” said Tom. “He’s worse than—than a murderer!”
Pete slapped him on the shoulder. “Bully fer you!” said he. “Fwhativer became uv yer fayther, lad?” he questioned after a moment.