"All the workers get like that," says Anna. "Mr. Stukey says that pretty soon everybody will join—all but the rich blood-suckers, and they'll be in jail. He was poor himself once. So was I, you know, in Poland. But we got along until the Germans came, and then—— Ugh! I don't like to remember."
"Anton was tellin' me," says I. "You lost some of your folks."
"Lost!" says Anna, a panicky look comin' into her big eyes. "You call it that? I saw my father shot, my two brothers dragged off to work in the trenches, and my sister—oh, I can't! I can't say it!"
"Then don't tell Stukey," says I, "if you want to keep stringin' him along."
"But why?" demands Anna.
"Because," says I, "the money he's spendin' so free around here comes from them—the Germans."
"No, no!" says Anna, whisperin' husky. "That—that's a lie!"
"Sorry," says I; "but I got his number straight. He was workin' for a German insurance company up to 1915, bookkeepin' at ninety a month. Then he got the chuck. He came near starvin'. It was when he was almost in that he went crawlin' back to 'em, and they gave him this job. If you don't believe it's German money he's spendin' ask Anton to show you some of Stukey's canceled checks."
"But—but he's English," protests Anna. "Anyway, his father was."
"The Huns don't mind who they buy up," says I.