“The events since have backed it up,” said Jeremy shortly.
“Must be great,” surmised the other, “to be a big enough Smart-Allick to rough up decent folks’ feelings whenever you want to.”
“There was nothing in what I wrote to offend any good American.”
“I guess you ain’t the only good American in Fenchester! I guess I’m as good an American as you are, if I have got a German name. You ain’t an American! You’re a England-lover and a German-hater.”
“Perhaps you have n’t heard that we are at war with Germany, Mr. Ahrens,” said Jeremy with rising color. “We’ve been at war for three weeks.”
“Never mind your funny jokes with me! I know about the war. Does that make you right to insult every German—German-American, I mean? You think you got us merchants where you want us with your verfluchter—your be-dammt paper. Well, you ain’t! Not any more. I got somethin’ to tell you about next year’s contract.”
“Tell it.”
“I’ll tell it, all right,” jeered the other. “I’ll tell you where you get off. Half of last year’s contract. Not a line more.”
“That’s less than The Guardian’s fair share.”
“Surprisin’, ain’t it?” snarled the other.