Bob Cook and the German Spy | Page 3

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."
"What do you mean 'he's one of the worst of the Germans'?" asked
Harold.
"Why, the way he talks against the United States and for Germany.
He's made all his money here, too."
"What's his business?"
"Some kind of chemicals, I believe."
"Perhaps he's making bombs," laughed Harold, and the rest of the

family joined in the laugh. That is, all but Bob, who took the suggestion
seriously, and his heart thumped a beat faster at the thought.
In fact, as he went to bed that night his mind was filled with thoughts of
spies, and plotters, and the hundred and one other things connected
with the war that he and his family had discussed that evening. He went
to the closet and took out the .22 caliber rifle that he owned; it was in
good condition and Bob assured himself that he had plenty of
cartridges, though he knew so small a gun would be of but little use in
time of trouble.
As he undressed he thought over the events of the day. Never had he
experienced such excitement. War had been declared, and many of the
young men, not much older than he, had enlisted. He, too, wanted to go
in the worst way, but he knew that his father and brother were right
when they said he would not be accepted.
"Why not?" muttered Bob to himself. "I'm big enough and strong
enough too; I could stand it as well as most of those fellows, even if
they are older. Besides I weigh a hundred and fifty-three and I'm five
feet nine inches tall. Perhaps they won't take me because I've got light
hair and blue eyes," he murmured bitterly. "They think I look like a
German."
Stripped to the skin he stood in front of the mirror and looked at
himself. Certainly he was big and strong. He had always lived a clean,
outdoor life, he had been active in athletics and right now was captain
of the high school baseball team. The muscles played and rippled under
his white skin, as he moved his lithe young body to and fro.
A few breathing exercises before he jumped into bed, and then he was
under the covers. And all night long he dreamed of chasing big fat
Germans up and down the streets, over fences, and across fields, and
even up the steep sides of houses. Usually just as he had caught up with
them he awoke. Most of all he dreamed he was pursuing Karl
Wernberg, who was a middle-aged German and not hard to overtake.
But Bob did not catch him because he always woke up too soon.

CHAPTER II
THE SECRET SERVICE AT WORK
The following morning Bob was in the trolley car on his way to school.
The car was full, and every one was eagerly scanning a newspaper or
discussing the war with his neighbor. Words of praise for the President
were to be heard on all sides, and enthusiasm was everywhere in
evidence. Old men wished they were young enough to enlist.
All at once Bob heard voices raised in dispute. The trouble was at the
opposite end of the car, but he could hear plainly what was said.
"It is wrong, all wrong," exclaimed a florid-faced man with a light
mustache, who plainly was of German blood. "What has Germany done
to this country?"
"They've sunk our ships when they had no right to, and they've
murdered our peaceful citizens," said the man next to him. "Isn't that
enough?"
"They were forced to do it," the German insisted.
"Oh, no, they weren't," said his neighbor calmly. "Any one can play the
game according to the rules if he wants to; there is never any excuse