And, what is more, we are going to do it at cost
price so we shan't make a cent out of it."
"I think that's fine," said Bob enthusiastically. "Perhaps you'll have to
stay home and guard father's factory, Harold."
"Do you think there'll be any danger to it?" Harold asked his father.
"I don't know," replied Mr. Cook. "There are a lot of rabid Germans in
High Ridge and you can't be sure just what they will do."
The telephone rang at that moment and Bob excused himself to go into the
next room and answer it. Dinner was now over and the rest of his family
shortly followed. As they entered the sitting-room where the telephone
was located, Bob was in the act of hanging up the receiver.
"Who was it, Bob?" asked his mother.
"I don't know; it sounded like a German's voice. At any rate he had the
wrong number. He said, 'Iss dis Mr. Vernberg?'"
"Oh, Wernberg," exclaimed Mr. Cook. "He's the man who moved into that
house down on the corner about two years ago. Karl Wernberg is his full
name and he's one of the worst of the Germans; he used to be an officer
in the German army, I understand.
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