"
"I suppose so," agreed Mr. Nestor. "Well, I'm glad to know
that Tom is doing something for Uncle Sam, even if it's only
helping with gas helmets. Those Germans are barbarians, if
ever there were any, and we've got to fight them the same
way they fight us! That's the only way to end the war! Now
if I had my way, I'd take every German I could lay my hands
on--"
"Father, pretzels!" exclaimed Mary.
"Eh? What's that, my dear?"
"I said pretzels!"
"Oh!" and Mr. Nestor's voice lost its sharpness.
"That's my way of quieting father down when he gets too
strenuous in his talk about the war," explained Mary. "We
agreed that whenever he got excited I was to say 'pretzels'
to him, and that would make him remember. We made up our
little scheme after he got into an argument with a man on
the train and was carried past his station."
"That's right," admitted Mr. Nestor, with a laugh. "But
that fellow was the most obstinate, pig-headed Dutchman that
ever tackled a plate of pig's knuckles and sauerkraut, and
if he had the least grain of common sense he'd--"
"Pretzels!" cried Mary.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94