a hard and shrewd old father, Gale, but you leave the
path of wisdom when you speak lightly of England's part in that Debate."

"Yes," put in the other, trying to be indignant. "But at least the
Americans didn't rub it in your face."

"So now we're talking about pride, are we?" Without realizing it,
Witherspoon had begun to speak (and think) in the way of the natives.
He had lived there for seven years, from the time he was thirty.

"If you think we liked being in their debt, both literally and
figuratively, you're mistaken. But we had to survive. We had to hang
on, so we did what we had to do. Don't you see, it's not a question of
principles, or faith, or anything else at all. It's reality; it's war;
and the extinction of lives and irreplaceable treasures is final.
Didn't we learn that all too well?

"And what did we get in return for our heroic stand? We took all the
early pounding, along with the Russians, absorbed the enemy's worst
blows, only to have the Yanks come charging in late in the game, and
take all the credit for final victory. Financially we'd have been
better off to declare war on the Americans ourselves, and then lose.
They went in afterward like good Samaritans and rebuilt the factories
of Germany and Japan, and set them well on their feet for a run at the
modern age. And what was left for England, not so very long before the
most powerful nation on Earth? Naught but a mountain of debt, a
crumbled economy, and the laughter of the world for the aging lion, no
longer able even to hold its own among the shifting tides of fate.

"You say we were only paying our dues. Well if that's so then we paid
them in full, and not an ha'penny short. Not that the Irish wasted any
tears on our behalf." Now it was his eyes that glowered.

The Irishman drained his snifter and let it fall wearily to the woven
rug. He looked now truly old and weather beaten, proud still, but with
very little hope left. Witherspoon had time to recover himself.

"Please, Bryan. Won't you at least pass the message on to your
approaching fleets?" He knew their Commander's name and (complete)
authority, even his current location; but this was no time to flaunt
the thoroughness of British intelligence. "I love New Belfast as much
as anyone. You don't know what it's given me. If it goes down to the
bloody French Elite, a part of me will die as well."

Gale looked up, and saw to his astonishment that there were standing