one. A pall of discontent was gathering about
her. It was the turn of that season in her calendar. The weather was
conspiring with the inner November.

The infamous winter of 1917-18 was preparing to descend upon the
blackest year in human annals. Everybody was unhappy; there was a
frightful shortage of food among all nations, a terrifying shortage of
coal, and the lowest temperature ever known would be recorded.
America, less unfortunate than the other peoples, was bitterly
disappointed in herself.

There was food in plenty for America, but not for her confederates.
The prices were appalling. Wages went up and up, but never quite
caught the expenses. It was necessary to send enormous quantities of
everything to our allies lest they perish before we could arrive with
troops. And Germany went on fiendishly destroying ships, foodstuffs,
and capital, displaying in every victory a more insatiable cruelty, a
more revolting cynicism toward justice, mercy, or truth.

The Kaiserly contempt for America's importance seemed to be justified.
People were beginning to remember Rome, and to wonder if, after all,
Germany might not crush France and England with the troops that had
demolished Russia. And then America would have to fight alone.

At this time Mamise stumbled upon an old magazine of the ancient date
of 1914. It was full of prophecies that the Kaiser would be dethroned,
exiled, hanged, perhaps. The irony of it was ghastly. Nothing was more
impossible than the downfall of the Kaiser--who seemed verifying his
boasts that he took his crown from God. He was praising the strong
sword of the unconquerable Germany. He was marshaling the millions
from his eastern front to throw the British troops into the sea and
smother the France he had bled white. The best that the most hopeful
could do was to mutter: "Hurry! hurry! We've got to hurry!"

Mamise grew fretful about the delay to the ship that was to take her
name across the sea. She went to Davidge to protest: "Can't you hurry
up my ship? If she isn't launched soon I'm going to go mad."

Davidge threw back his head and emitted a noise between laughter and
profanity. He picked up a letter and flung it down.

"I've just got orders changing the specifications again. This is the
third time, and the third time's the charm; for now we've got to take
out all we've put in, make a new set of drawings and a new set of
castings and pretty blamed near tear down the whole ship and rebuild