When Clayton had returned from Washington, one of the first problems put
up to him had been Herman Klein's application to be taken on again. He
found Hutchinson in favor of it.
"He doesn't say much," he said. "Never did. But I gather things are
changed, now we are in the war ourselves."
"I suppose we need him."
"You bet we need him."
For the problem of skilled labor was already a grave one.
Clayton was doubtful. If he could have conferred with Dunbar he would
have felt more comfortable, but Dunbar was away on some mysterious
errand connected with the Military Intelligence Department. He sat
considering, tapping on his desk with the handle of his pen. Of course
things were different now. A good many Germans whose sympathies had,
as between the Fatherland and the Allies, been with Germany, were now
driven to a decision between the land they had left and the land they
had adopted. And behind Herman there were thirty years of good record.
"Where is the daughter?"
"I don't know. She left some weeks ago. It's talk around the plant that
he beat her up, and she got out. Those Germans don't know the first
thing about how to treat women."
"Then she is not in Weaver's office?"
There was more talk in the offices than Hutchinson repeated. Graham's
fondness for Anna, her slavish devotion to him, had been pretty well
recognized. He wondered if Clayton knew anything about it, or the
further gossip that Graham knew where Anna Klein had been hiding.
"What about Rudolph Klein? He was a nephew, wasn't he?"
"Fired," said Hutchinson laconically. "Got to spreading the brotherhood
of the world idea--sweat brothers, he calls them. But he was mighty
careful never to get in a perspiration himself."
"We might try Herman again. But I'd keep an eye on him."
So Herman was taken on at the new munition plant. He was a citizen,
he owned property, he had a record of long service behind him. And, at
first, he was minded to preserve that record intact. While he had by
now added to his rage against the Fatherland's enemies a vast and sullen
fury against invested capital, his German caution still remained.
He would sit through fiery denunciations of wealth, nodding his head
slowly in agreement. He was perfectly aware that in Gus's little back
room dark plots were hatched. Indeed, on a certain April night Rudolph
had come up and called him onto the porch.
"In about fifteen minutes," he said, consulting his watch in the
doorway, "I'm going to show you something pretty."