ll for a principle," observed Lane. "Red was fired out of
the hospital without a dollar. There was something terribly wrong."

"Wrong?... God Almighty!" burst out Blair, with hard passion. "Let me
read you something in this same paper." With shaking hands he unfolded
it, searched until he found what he wanted, and began to read:

"'If the _actual_ needs of disabled veterans require the expenditure
of much money, then unquestionably a majority of the taxpayers of the
country will favor spending it. Despite the insistent demand for
economy in Washington that is arising from every part of the country,
no member of House or Senate will have occasion to fear that he is
running counter to popular opinion when eventually he votes to take
generous care of disabled soldiers.'"

Blair's trembling voice ceased, and then twisting the newspaper into a
rope, he turned to Lane. "Dare, can you understand that?... Red Payson
was a bull-headed boy, not over bright. But you and I have some
intelligence, I hope. We can allow for the immense confusion at
Washington--the senselessness of red tape--the callosity of
politicians. But when we remember the eloquent calls to us boys--the
wonderfully worded appeals to our patriotism, love of country and
home--the painted posters bearing the picture of a beautiful American
girl--or a young mother with a baby--remembering these deep,
passionate calls to the best in us, can you understand _that_ sort of
talk now?"

"Blair, I think I can," replied Lane. "Then--before and after the
draft--the whole country was at a white heat of all that the approach
of war rouses. Fear, self-preservation, love of country, hate of the
Huns, inspired patriotism, and in most everybody the will to fight and
to sacrifice.... The war was a long, hideous, soul-racking,
nerve-destroying time. When it ended, and the wild period of joy and
relief had its run, then all that pertained to the war sickened and
wearied and disgusted the majority of people. It's 'forget the war.'
You and Payson and I got home a year too late."

"Then--it's just--monstrous," said Blair, heavily.

"That's all, Blair. Just monstrous. But we can't beat our spirits out
against this wall. No one can understand us--how alone we are. Let's
forget _that_--this wall--this thing called government. Shall we spend
what time we have to live always in a thunderous atmosphere of
mind--hating, pondering, bitter?"

"No. I'll make a compact with you," returned B