"Twenty-four. And Kurt's my first name," was the reply.

"Will this farm fall to you?"

"Yes, if my father does not lose it."

"Hum!... Old Dorn won't lose it, never fear. He raises the best wheat in
this section."

"But father never owned the land. We have had three bad years. If the
wheat fails this summer--we lose the land, that's all."

"Are you an--American?" queried Anderson, slowly, as if treading on
dangerous ground.

"I am," snapped Kurt. "My mother was American. She's dead. Father is
German. He's old. He's rabid since the President declared war. He'll
never change."

"That's hell. What 're you goin' to do if your country calls you?"

"Go!" replied Kurt, with flashing eyes. "I wanted to enlist. Father and
I quarreled over that until I had to give in. He's hard--he's
impossible.... I'll wait for the draft and hope I'm called."

"Boy, it's that spirit Germany's roused, an' the best I can say is, God
help her!... Have you a brother?"

"No. I'm all father has."