"Why, ours—the U.S. government!"
"That's not my government. The more it's embarrassed the better it will suit me."
In the stress of the moment Kurt had forgotten his father's bitter and unchangeable hatred.
"But you're—you're stupid," he hissed, passionately. "That government has protected you for fifty years."
Old Dorn growled into his beard. His huge ox-eyes rolled. Kurt realized then finally how implacable and hopeless he was—how utterly German. Then Kurt importuned him to return the eighty thousand dollars to the bank until he was sure the wheat was harvested and hauled to the railroad.
"My wheat won't burn," was old Dorn's stubborn reply.
"Well, then, give me Anderson's thirty thousand. I'll take it to him at once. Our debt will be paid. We'll have it off our minds."
"No hurry about that," replied his father.
"But there is hurry," returned Kurt, in a hot whisper. "Anderson came to see you to-day. He wants his money."
"Neuman holds the small end of that debt. I'll pay him. Anderson can wait."