arcastically.

"But if you really mean it," began the editor again, "then it must be a
gigantic plot. If you think that the bandits--the Japanese----" he said,
correcting himself.

"The Japanese outposts," interposed Halifax.

"Well, yes, the Japanese outposts, if you wish; if they have succeeded
in destroying all railway connections with the West, then the enemy is
no longer off our coast, but----"

A stenographer now rushed into the room with a new message. The editor
glanced over it and then handed it to Halifax, who took the paper in
both hands, and, while all listened attentively, read aloud the
following telegram from Denver:

"According to uncertain dispatches, Sunday's attacks on trains were not
made by gangs of robbers, but by detachments of Japanese troops, who
have suddenly and in the most incomprehensible manner sprung up all over
the country. Not only have single stations on the Union Pacific line
been seized, but whole towns have been occupied by hostile regiments,
the inhabitants having been taken so completely by surprise, that no
resistance could be offered. The rumor of a battle between the Japanese
ships and the coast defences at San Francisco has gained considerable
currency. The concerted attacks on the various trans-continental lines
have cut off the western States entirely from telegraphic communication
and in addition interrupted all railway traffic."

The telegram shook in John Halifax's hands; he ran his fingers through
his hair and looked at the editor, who could only repeat the words
spoken by Halifax a few minutes before: "Gentlemen, I fear this means
war."

Halifax collected the telegrams and went silently into his room, where
he dropped into the chair before his desk, and sat staring in front of
him with his head, full of confused thoughts, resting on his hands.
"This means war," he repeated softly. Mechanically he took up his pen
with the intention of putting his thoughts on paper, but not a line, not
a word could he produce under the stress of these whirling sensations.
Unable to construct a single sentence, he drew circles and meaningless
figures on the white paper, scribbled insignificant words, only to cross
them out immediately afterwards, and repeated again and again: "This
means war."

Outside in the halls people hurried past; some one seized the door-knob,
so he got up and locked himself in. Then he sat down again. The fresh,
mild air blew in through the wide open window