coat-of-arms, and the words:
'DEUTSCHLAND UeBER ALLES.'

'Vot you tink?' grinned Mr. Schneider, speaking from the altitude of
the chair. 'Goot, ugh?' He turned the thing about and stepped down
again, wringing his hands in huge enjoyment of the whole thing. 'You
can spik blainly, Mister Selvyn,' he went on amiably. 'Ve unnerstan'
each odder, hein? Von't you smoke one of dem cigars?'

'No,' said Selwyn. He looked at the little man for about ten seconds,
then, crossing to the wall, wrenched the sign away, nail and all.

'Here, here,' protested Mr. Schneider, backing warily to the door, 'vot
for you do dis? Vot you mean, you great big fourflusher?'

The young man eyed the sign and then the German's head, apparently with
the idea of bringing them together. Mr. Schneider further developed
his plan of retreat by taking a grasp of the door-handle.

'That's for people who say "Nix on the War,"' said Selwyn, breaking the
sign in his hands as if it were made of matchwood. 'And this is for
your damned Deutschland!'

He broke the remainder over his knee, and threw the pieces on the flat
desk, upsetting an ink-bottle, the contents of which dripped juicily to
the floor.

'But ain't you,' said Mr. Schneider, in a voice that was almost a
squeal--'don't you got no resbect for Chermany? Only yesterday der
ambassador, he tole me that after the var, for all you wrote to help
der Faderland, der Kaiser, himself, vill on you bestow'----

Before the speaker could acquaint the author with the exact nature of
the honour in store for him, Selwyn had seized him by the coat-lapels,
and was shaking him so violently that Mr. Schneider's natural talent
for double-facedness was developed to a pitch where an observant
looker-on might have counted at least five of him vibrating at once.

'You dirty little hound,' said Selwyn, without relaxing in the least
the shaking process, 'if you ever use my name again, or send out
anything written, or supposed to be written, by me, I'll'----

For once words failed him, and lifting the little man almost off the
floor, he deposited him violently on his own desk, in the midst of the
pool formed by the ink.

'Nix on the war!' snorted Selwyn defiantly, putting on his hat. He was
going to add a few more crushing remarks, but, altering his mind, went
out, slamming the door so violently that all the typewriters engaged in
sending out German propaganda were startled into an instant of silence.

As fo