Herbert Strang

A Hero of Liege Herbert Strang

Publisher Marketing: At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning, August 4, Kenneth Amory walked into the private office of the head of the well-known firm of Amory & Finkelstein, gutta-percha manufacturers, of Cologne. Max Finkelstein, the head of the firm, swung round on his revolving chair, moved his hand backward over his brush-like crop of brownish hair, and looked up through his spectacles at Kenneth, his stout florid countenance wearing an expression of worry. "I sent for you to tell you to pack up and get away by the first train," he said, in German. "Things are looking very black; the sooner you are home, the better." "Our dear Max is jumpy," came in smooth tones from the third person in the room, the ends of his well-brushed moustache rising stiffly as he smiled. He was tall and slim--a contrast to his cousin Finkelstein, who had reached that period of life when good food, a successful business, and Germanic lack of exercise, tend to corpulence. "I tell him he need not worry," the speaker went on. "It will be as in '70." "Provided that England----" Finkelstein was beginning, but Kurt Hellwig broke in with a laugh. "Oh, England! England will protest a little, and preach a little, and take care not to get a scratch." "Don't you be too sure of that," said Kenneth, rather warmly. "No? You think otherwise?" Hellwig was smiling still. "Well, we shall see. Perhaps you have private information?" His mocking smile and ironical tone brought a flush to Kenneth's cheeks. "I don't want any private information to know what England will do," cried the boy.