es, we are prosperous now. Let well enough alone!" said the
manufacturer's son.

"Some say it makes wages higher," said the laborer's son, "but I am
thinking it's a poor way of raising your pay."

"There won't be any war," said the banker's son "There can't be without
credit. The banking interests will lot permit it."

"There can always be war," said the judge's son, "always when one people
determines to strike at another people--even if it brings bankruptcy."

"It would be a war that would make all others in history a mere exchange
of skirmishes. Every able-bodied man in line--automatics a hundred shots
a minute--guns a dozen shots a minute--and aeroplanes and dirigibles!"
said the manufacturer's son.

"To the death, too!"

"And not for glory! We of the 53d who live on the frontier will be
fighting for our homes."

"If we lose them we'll never get them back. Better die than be beaten!"

There was no humorist Hugo Mallin in this group; no nimble fancy to send
heresy skating over thin ice; but there was Herbert Stransky, with
deep-set eyes, slightly squinting inward, and a heavy jaw, an enormous
man who was the best shot in the company when he cared to be. He had
listened in silence to the others, his rather thick but expressive lips
curving with cynicism. His only speech all the morning had been in the
midst of the reception in the public square of the town when he said:

"This home-coming doesn't mean much to me. Home? Hell! The hedgerows of
the world are my home!"

He appeared older than his years, and hard and bitter, except when his
eyes would light with a feverish sort of fire which shone now as he
broke into a lull in the talk.

"Comrades," he began.

"Let us hear from the socialist!" a Tory exclaimed.

"No, the anarchist!" shouted a socialist.

"There won't be any war!" said Stransky, his voice gradually rising to
the pitch of an agitator relishing the sensation of his own words.
"Patriotism is the played-out trick of the ruling classes to keep down
the proletariat. There won't be any war! Why? Because there are too
many enlightened men on both sides who do the world's work. We of the
53d are a provincial lot, but throughout our army there are thousands
upon thousands like me. They march, they drill, but when battle comes
they will refuse to fight--my comrades in heart, to whom the flag of
this country means no more than that of any other country!"

"Hold on! The flag is sacred!" cried the banke