Minna audibly achieved the commanded silence.  Herman listened until satisfied of this, then resumed: 

“Well, so fur, so good.  Then Germany don’t act right, so my own country got to fight her.  She’s got to fight her!  I’d get me another country if she didn’t.  But now people don’t understand how I feel so.  They say:  ’Yes, he praise Germany to the sky; now I guess he talk the other side of his mouth purty good.’  They don’t understand me.  I want Germany should be punished good, and my country she’s goin’ to do it good.  That is big in my heart.  But shall I go out on the street and holler, ’To hell with Germany?’ Not!  Because people would know I lied, and I would know.  I want Germany should be well whipped till all them sheep’s heads is out of high places, but I can’t hate Germans.  I could punish someone good and not hate ’em.  I’m a German in my blood, but you bet I ain’t a pro-German.

“Mamma, again I tell you keep still once—­and now you boys goin’ to fight.  That’s good!  Me, I would go if I was not too old; not a better German fighter would they have than me.  I kill ’em all what come till I fall over myself.  You boys remember and fight hard, so we make the world nice again.  I bet you fight good—­strong, husky boys like you.  And I hope you come back strong and hearty and live a long time in a world you helped to put it right.  I hope some day you have children will be proud because you was good Americans, like mine would be if we had a little one.  I hope you teach ’em to fight quick for their own good country.  Now—­prosit!”

They drank, and in the stillness Minna Vielhaber was again heard to be lamenting.  Herman addressed her harshly: 

“Mamma, now again I beg you shall keep still once.”

Minna appeared from back of the bar and became coherent.

“I wassn’t cryin’ no tears for Germans—­wass cryin’ fur them!” She waved a damp towel at Herman’s guests.  Herman soothed her.

“Now, now—­them boys take care of themselves.  Likely they have a little trouble here and there or some place, but they come back sound—­I tell you that.  Now you dry up—­you make some other people feel that way.  Hear me?” Minna subsided.

“You bet,” resumed Herman, “we’re Americans good.  Mebbe I can’t tell people so now, like they believe me; it’s hard to believe I want Germans whipped good if I don’t hate ’em, but it’s true—­and lots others besides me.  They come in my place, Dagoes, Wops, Hunnyacks, Swedes, Jews, every breed, and what you think—­they keep talkin’ about what us Americans had ought to do to lick Germany.  It’s funny, yes?  To hear ’em say us Americans, but when you know them foreigners mean it so hard—­well, it ain’t funny!  It’s good!