"You here! What for?" he demanded, gruffly, in German.
"I had to see you," replied Kurt, in English.
"Did it rain?" was the old man's second demand, husky and serious.
"The wheat is made, if we can harvest it," answered Kurt.
The blaze of joy on old Dorn's face gave Kurt a twinge of pain. He hated to dispel it. "Come aside, here, a minute," he whispered, and drew his father over to a corner under a lamp. "I've got bad news. Look at this!" He produced the cake of phosphorus, careful to hide it from other curious eyes there, and with swift, low words he explained its meaning. He expected an outburst of surprise and fury, but he was mistaken.
"I know about that," whispered his father, hoarsely. "There won't be any thrown in my wheat."
"Father! What assurance have you of that?" queried Kurt, astounded.
The old man nodded his gray head wisely. He knew, but he did not speak.
"Do you think these I.W.W. plotters will spare your wheat?" asked Kurt. "You are wrong. They may lie to your face. But they'll betray you. The I.W.W. is backed by—by interests that want to embarrass the government."
"What government?"