asserted the father.

Kurt fell back in his chair and stared at the turgid, bulging forehead
and hard eyes before him. What could be behind them? Had the war brought
out a twist in his father's brain? Why were Germans so impossible?

"My Heavens! father, would you turn me out of my home because we
disagree?" he asked, desperately.

"In my country sons obey their fathers or they go out for themselves."

"I've not been a disobedient son," declared Kurt. "And here in America
sons have more freedom--more say."

"America has no sense of family life--no honest government. I hate the
country."

A ball of fire seemed to burst in Kurt.

"That kind of talk infuriates me," he blazed. "I don't care if you are
my father. Why in the hell did you come to America? Why did you stay?
Why did you marry my mother--an American woman?... That's rot--just
spiteful rot! I've heard you tell what life was in Europe when you were
a boy. You ran off. You stayed in this country because it was a better
country than yours.... Fifty years you've been in America--many years on
this farm. And you love this land.... My God! father, can't you and men
like you see the truth?"

"Aye, I can," gloomily replied the old man. "The truth is we'll lose the
land. That greedy Anderson will drive me off."