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_ One bright June day Mr. Wheeler parked his car in a line of
motors before the new pressed-brick Court house in Frankfort. The
Court house stood in an open square, surrounded by a grove of
cotton-woods. The lawn was freshly cut, and the flower beds were
blooming. When Mr. Wheeler entered the courtroom upstairs, it was
already half-full of farmers and townspeople, talking in low
tones while the summer flies buzzed in and out of the open
windows. The judge, a one-armed man, with white hair and
side-whiskers, sat at his desk, writing with his left hand. He
was an old settler in Frankfort county, but from his frockcoat
and courtly manners you might have thought he had come from
Kentucky yesterday instead of thirty years ago. He was to hear
this morning a charge of disloyalty brought against two German
farmers. One of the accused was August Yoeder, the Wheelers'
nearest neighbour, and the other was Troilus Oberlies, a rich
German from the northern part of the county.
Oberlies owned a beautiful farm and lived in a big white house
set on a hill, with a fine orchard, rows of beehives, barns,
granaries, and poultry yards. He raised turkeys and
tumbler-pigeons, and many geese and ducks swam about on his
cattleponds. He used to boast that he had six sons, "like our
German Emperor." His neighbours were proud of his place, and
pointed it out to strangers. They told how Oberlies had come to
Frankfort county a poor man, and had made his fortune by his
industry and intelligence. He had twice crossed the ocean to
re-visit his fatherland, and when he returned to his home on the
prairies he brought presents for every one; his lawyer, his
banker, and the merchants with whom he dealt in Frankfort and
Vicount. Each of his neighbours had in his parlour some piece of
woodcarving or weaving, or some ingenious mechanical toy that
Oberlies had picked up in Germany. He was an older man than
Yoeder, wore a short beard that was white and curly, like his
hair, and though he was low in stature, his puffy red face and
full blue eyes, and a certain swagger about his carriage, gave
him a look of importance. He was boastful and quick-tempered, but
until the war broke out in Europe nobody had ever had any trouble
with him. Since then he had constantly found fault and
complained,--everything was better in the Old Country.
Mr. Wheeler had come to town prepared to lend Yoeder a hand if he
needed one. They had worked adjoining fields for thirty years
now. He was surprised that his neighbour had got into trouble. He
was not a blusterer, like Oberlies, but a big, quiet man, with a
serious, large-featured face, and a stern mouth that seldom
opened. His countenance might have been cut out of red sandstone,
it was so heavy and fixed. He and Oberlies sat on two wooden
chairs outside the railing of the judge's desk.
Presently the judge stopped writing and said he would hear the
charges against Troilus Oberlies. Several neighbours took the
stand in succession; their complaints were confused and almost
humorous. Oberlies had said the United States would be licked,
and that would be a good thing; America was a great country, but
it was run by fools, and to be governed by Germany was the best
thing that could happen to it. The witness went on to say that
since Oberlies had made his money in this country--
Here the judge interrupted him. "Please confine yourself to
statements which you consider disloyal, made in your presence by
the defendant." While the witness proceeded, the judge took off
his glasses and laid them on the desk and began to polish the
lenses with a silk handkerchief, trying them, and rubbing them
again, as if he desired to see clearly.
A second witness had heard Oberlies say he hoped the German
submarines would sink a few troopships; that would frighten the
Americans and teach them to stay at home and mind their own
business. A third complained that on Sunday afternoons the old
man sat on his front porch and played Die Wacht am Rhein on a
slide-trombone, to the great annoyance of his neighbours. Here
Nat Wheeler slapped his knee with a loud guffaw, and a titter ran
through the courtroom. The defendant's puffy red cheeks seemed
fashioned by his Maker to give voice to that piercing instrument.
When asked if he had anything to say to these charges, the old
man rose, threw back his shoulders, and cast a defiant glance at
the courtroom. "You may take my property and imprison me, but I
explain nothing, and I take back nothing," he declared in a loud
voice.
The judge regarded his inkwell with a smile. "You mistake the
nature of this occasion, Mr. Oberlies. You are not asked to
recant. You are merely asked to desist from further disloyal
utterances, as much for your own protection and comfort as from
consideration for the feelings of your neighbours. I will now
hear the charges against Mr. Yoeder."
Mr. Yoeder, a witness declared, had said he hoped the United
States would go to Hell, now that it had been bought over by
England. When the witness had remarked to him that if the Kaiser
were shot it would end the war, Yoeder replied that charity
begins at home, and he wished somebody would put a bullet in the
President.
When he was called upon, Yoeder rose and stood like a rock before
the judge. "I have nothing to say. The charges are true. I
thought this was a country where a man could speak his mind."
"Yes, a man can speak his mind, but even here he must take the
consequences. Sit down, please." The judge leaned back in his
chair, and looking at the two men in front of him, began with
deliberation: "Mr. Oberlies, and Mr. Yoeder, you both know, and
your friends and neighbours know, why you are here. You have not
recognized the element of appropriateness, which must be regarded
in nearly all the transactions of life; many of our civil laws
are founded upon it. You have allowed a sentiment, noble in
itself, to carry you away and lead you to make extravagant
statements which I am confident neither of you mean. No man can
demand that you cease from loving the country of your birth; but
while you enjoy the benefits of this country, you should not
defame its government to extol another. You both admit to
utterances which I can only adjudge disloyal. I shall fine you
each three hundred dollars; a very light fine under the
circumstances. If I should have occasion to fix a penalty a
second time, it will be much more severe."
After the case was concluded, Mr. Wheeler joined his neighbour at
the door and they went downstairs together.
"Well, what do you hear from Claude"' Mr. Yoeder asked.
"He's still at Fort R--. He expects to get home on leave before
he sails. Gus, you'll have to lend me one of your boys to
cultivate my corn. The weeds are getting away from me."
"Yes, you can have any of my boys,-- till the draft gets 'em,"
said Yoeder sourly.
"I wouldn't worry about it. A little military training is good
for a boy. You fellows know that." Mr. Wheeler winked, and
Yoeder's grim mouth twitched at one corner.
That evening at supper Mr. Wheeler gave his wife a full account
of the court hearing, so that she could write it to Claude. Mrs.
Wheeler, always more a school-teacher than a housekeeper, wrote a
rapid, easy hand, and her long letters to Claude reported all the
neighbourhood doings. Mr. Wheeler furnished much of the material
for them. Like many long-married men he had fallen into the way
of withholding neighbourhood news from his wife. But since Claude
went away he reported to her everything in which he thought the
boy would be interested. As she laconically said in one of her
letters:
"Your father talks a great deal more at home than formerly, and
sometimes I think he is trying to take your place." _
Read next: Book Three: Sunrise on the Prairie: Chapter 10
Read previous: Book Three: Sunrise on the Prairie: Chapter 8
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