"You can beat mine, I'm sure. Before I went to college I did pretty well. But I learned too much there. Now my mother and sisters, and brother Jim, all the family except dad, make fun of my bread."
"You have a brother? How old is he?"
"One brother—Jim, we call him. He—he is just past twenty-one." She faltered the last few words.
Kurt felt on common ground with her then. The sudden break in her voice, the change in her face, the shadowing of the blue eyes—these were eloquent.
"Oh, it's horrible—this need of war!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he replied, simply. "But maybe your brother will not be called."
"Called! Why, he refused to wait for the draft! He went and enlisted. Dad patted him on the back.… If anything happens to him it'll kill my mother. Jim is her idol. It'd break my heart.… Oh, I hate the very name of Germans!"
"My father is German," said Kurt. "He's been fifty years in America—eighteen years here on this farm. He always hated England. Now he's bitter against America.… I can see a side you can't see. But I don't blame you—for what you said."
"Forgive me. I can't conceive of meaning that against any one who's lived here so long.… Oh, it must be hard for you."
"I'll let my father think I'm forced to join the army. But I'm going to fight against his people. We are a house divided against itself."