n't it? We can't perfect the world with guns and ambulances, Jimmy."

"Maybe not," said Jimmy dryly.

"It's quite possible," I insisted, "that Phil's book might accomplish
more for humanity, in the long run, than anything he could do at his age
in Flanders."

"Susan could come home and write plays," said Jimmy; "good ones, too.
But she won't. You can bet on that, sir."

"I've never believed in war, Jimmy; never believed it could possibly
help us onward."

"Maybe it can't," interrupted Jimmy. "I've never believed in cancer,
either; it's very painful and kills a lot of people. You'd better come
with us, sir. You'll be sorry you didn't--if you don't."

"Why? You know my ideas on nonresistance, Jimmy."

"Oh, ideas!" grunted Jimmy. "I know you're a white man, Mr. Hunt. That's
enough for me. I'm not worrying much about your ideas."

"But whatever we do, Jimmy, there's an _idea_ behind it; there must be."

"Nachur'ly," said Jimmy. "Those are the only ones that count! I can't
see you letting Susan risk her life day in an' out to help people who
are being wronged, while you sit over here and worry about what's going
to happen in a thousand years or so--after we're all good and dead! Not
much I can't! The point is, there's the rotten mess--and Susan's in it,
trying to make it better--and we're not. Prof. Farmer got it all in a
flash! He'll be round presently to make plans. Well--how about it, sir?"

Granite! Granite at last, unshakable, beneath my feet!

Then, too, Susan was over there, and Jimmy and Phil were going, without
a moment's hesitation, at her behest! But I have always hoped, and I do
honestly believe, that it was not entirely that.

No; romanticist or not, I will not submit to the assumption that of two
possible motives for any decently human action, it is always the lower
motive that turns the trick. La Rochefoucauld to the contrary,
self-interest is not the inevitable mainspring of man; though, sadly I
admit, it seems to be an indispensable cog-wheel in his complicated
works....

II

And now, properly apprehensive reader--whom, in the interests of
objectivity, which has never interested me, I should never openly
address--are you not unhappy in the prospect of another little tour
through trench and hospital, of one more harrowing account of how the
Great War made a Great Man of him at last?

Be comforted! One air raid I cannot spare you; but I can spare you much.
To begin with, I can spare you, or