"Oh, r-r-rats-s," exclaimed a harsh voice.

"That's Holtzman," said Larry to Smart.

(Cries of "Shut up!—Go on.")

"I beg the gentleman who has so courteously interrupted me," continued Mr. Allen, "simply to wait for my facts." ("Hear! Hear!" from many parts of the building.) The sources of his information were three: first, his own observation during a three months' tour in Germany; second, his conversations with representative men in Great Britain, France and Germany; and third, the experience of a young and brilliant attache of the British Embassy at Berlin now living in Canada, with whom he had been brought into touch by a young University student at present in this city. From this latter source he had also obtained possession of literature accessible only to a few. He spoke with a full sense of responsibility and with a full appreciation of the value of words.

The contrast between the Honourable Mr. Allen and the speaker that preceded him was such that the audience was not only willing but eager to hear the facts and arguments which the speaker claimed to be in a position to offer. Under the first head he gave in detail the story of his visit to Germany and piled up an amazing accumulation of facts illustrative of Germany's military and naval preparations in the way of land and sea forces, munitions and munition factories, railroad construction, food supplies and financial arrangements in the way of gold reserves and loans. The preparations for war which, in the world's history, had been made by Great Powers threatening the world's freedom, were as child's play to these preparations now made by Germany, and these which he had given were but a few illustrations of Germany's war preparations, for the more important of these were kept hidden by her from the rest of the world. "My argument is that preparation by a nation whose commercial and economic instincts are so strong as those of the German people can only reasonably be interpreted to mean a Purpose to War. That that purpose exists and that that purpose determines Germany's world's politics, I have learned from many prominent Germans, military and naval officers, professors, bankers, preachers. And more than that this same purpose can be discovered in the works of many distinguished German writers during the last twenty-five years. You see this pile of books beside me? They are filled, with open and avowed declarations of this purpose. The raison d'etre of the great Pan-German League, of the powerful Navy League with one million and a half members, and of the other great German organisations is war. Bear with me while I read to you extracts from some of these writings. I respectfully ask a patient hearing. I would not did I not feel it to be important that from representative Germans themselves you should learn the dominating purpose that has directed and determined the course of German activity in every department of its national life for the last quarter of a century."

For almost half an hour the speaker read extracts from the pile of books on the table beside him. "I think I may now fairly claim to have established first the fact of vast preparations by Germany for war and the further fact that Germany cherishes in her heart a settled Purpose of War." It was interesting to know how this purpose had come to be so firmly established in the heart of a people whom we had always considered to be devoted to the cultivation of the gentler arts of peace. The history of the rise and the development of this Purpose to War would be found in the history of Germany itself. He then briefly touched upon the outstanding features in the history of the German Empire from the days of the great Elector of Brandenburg to the present time. During these last three hundred years, while the English people were steadily fighting for and winning their rights to freedom and self-government from tyrant kings, in Prussia two powers were being steadily built up, namely autocracy and militarism, till under Bismarck and after the War of 1870 these two powers were firmly established in the very fibre of the new modern German Empire. Since the days of Bismarck the autocrat of Germany had claimed the hegemony of Europe and had dreamed of winning for himself and his Empire a supreme place among the nations of the world. And this dream he had taught his people to share with him, for to them it meant not simply greater national glory, which had become a mania with them, but expansion of trade and larger commercial returns. And for the realisation of this dream, the German Kaiser and his people with him were ready and were waiting the opportunity to plunge the world into the bloodiest war of all time.

At some length the speaker proceeded to develop the idea of the necessary connection between autocracy and militarism, and the relation of autocratic and military power to wars of conquest. "The German Kaiser," he continued, "is ready for war as no would-be world conqueror in the world's history has ever been ready. The German Kaiser cherishes the purpose to make war, and this purpose is shared in and approved by the whole body of the German people." These facts he challenged any one to controvert. If these things were so, what should Canada do? Manifestly one thing only—she should prepare to do her duty in defending herself and the great Empire. "So far," he continued, "I have raised no controversial points. I have purposely abstained from dealing with questions that may be regarded from a partisan point of view. I beg now to refer to a subject which unhappily has become a matter of controversy in Canada—the subject, namely, of the construction of a Canadian Navy. [Disturbance in various parts of the building.] You have been patient. I earnestly ask you to be patient for a few moments longer. Both political parties fortunately are agreed upon two points; first, that Canada must do its share and is willing to do its share in the defence of the Empire. On this point all Canadians are at one, all Canadians are fully determined to do their full duty to the Empire which has protected Canada during its whole history, and with which it is every loyal Canadian's earnest desire to maintain political connection. Second, Canada must have a Navy. Unfortunately, while we agree upon these two points, there are two points upon which we differ. First, we differ upon the method to be adopted in constructing our Navy and, second, upon the question of Navy control in war. In regard to the second point, I would only say that I should be content to leave the settlement of that question to the event. When war comes that question will speedily be settled, and settled, I am convinced, in a way consistent with what we all desire to preserve, Canadian autonomy. In regard to the first, I would be willing to accept any method of construction that promised efficiency and speed, and with all my power I oppose any method that necessitates delay. Considerations of such questions as location of dockyards, the type of ship, the size of ship, I contend, are altogether secondary. The main consideration is speed. I leave these facts and arguments with you, and speaking not as a party politician but simply as a loyal Canadian and as a loyal son of the Empire, I would say, 'In God's name, for our country's honour and for the sake of our Empire's existence, let us with our whole energy and with all haste prepare for war.'"

The silence that greeted the conclusion of this address gave eloquent proof of the profound impression produced.

As the chairman rose to close the meeting the audience received a shock. The raucous voice of Holtzman was heard again demanding the privilege of asking two questions.

"The first question I would ask, Mr. Chairman, is this: Is not this immense war preparation of Germany explicable on the theory of the purpose of defence? Mr. Allen knows well that both on the eastern and southern frontiers Germany is threatened by the aggression of the Pan-Slavic movement, and to protect herself from this Pan-Slavic movement, together with a possible French alliance, the war preparations of Germany are none too vast. Besides, I would ask Mr. Allen, What about Britain's vast navy?"

"The answer to this question," said Mr. Allen, "is quite simple. What nation has threatened Germany for the past forty years? On the contrary, every one knows that since 1875 five separate times has Germany threatened war against France and twice against Russia. Furthermore military experts assure us that in defensive war an army equipped with modern weapons can hold off from four to eight times its own strength. It is absurd to say that Germany's military preparations are purely defensive. As for Britain's navy, the answer is equally simple. Britain's Empire is like no other Empire in the world in that it lies spread out upon the seven seas. It is essential to her very life that she be able to keep these waterways open to her ships. Otherwise she exists solely upon the sufferance of any nation that can wrest from her the supremacy of the sea. At her will Germany has the right to close against all the world the highways of her empire; the highways of Britain's empire are the open seas which she shares with the other nations of the world and which she cannot close. Therefore, these highways she must be able to make safe."

"If Mr. Allen imagines that this answer of his will satisfy any but the most bigoted Britain, I am content. Another question I would ask. Does not Mr. Allen think that if the capitalistic classes, who leave their burdens to be borne by the unhappy proletariat, were abolished wars would immediately cease? Does he not know that recently it was proved in Germany that the Krupps were found to be promoting war scares in France in the interests of their own infernal trade? And lastly does not history prove that Britain is the great robber nation of the world? And does he not think that it is time she was driven from her high place by a nation which is her superior, commercially, socially, intellectually and every other way?"

As if by a preconcerted signal it seemed as if the whole top gallery broke into a pandemonium of approving yells, while through other parts of the house arose fierce shouts, "Throw him out." Mr. Allen rose and stood quietly waiting till the tumult had ceased.

"If the gentleman wishes to engage me in a discussion on socialism, my answer is that this is not the time nor place for such a discussion. The question which I have been considering is one much too grave to be mixed up with an academic discussion of any socialistic theories."

"Aha! Aha!" laughed Holtzman scornfully.

"As for Britain's history, that stands for all the world to read. All the nations have been guilty of crimes; but let me say that any one who knows the history of Germany for the last three hundred years is aware that in unscrupulous aggression upon weaker neighbours, in treachery to friend and foe, Germany is the equal of any nation in the world. But if you consider her history since 1864 Germany stands in shameless and solitary pre-eminence above any nation that has ever been for unscrupulous greed, for brutal, ruthless oppression of smaller peoples, and for cynical disregard of treaty covenants, as witness Poland, Austria, Denmark, Holland and France. As to the treachery of the Krupps, I believe the gentleman is quite right, but I would remind him that the Kaiser has no better friend to-day than Bertha Krupp, and she is a German."

From every part of the theatre rose one mighty yell of delight and derision, during which Holtzman stood wildly gesticulating and shouting till a hand was seen to reach his collar and he disappeared from view. Once more order was restored and the chairman on the point of closing the meeting, when Larry said to his friend Smart:

"I should dearly love to take a hand in this."

"Jump in," said Smart, and Larry "jumped in."

"Mr. Chairman," he said quietly, "may I ask Mr. Allen a question?"

"No," said the chairman in curt reply. "The hour is late and I think further discussion at present is unprofitable."

But here Mr. Allen interposed. "I hope, Mr. Chairman," he said, "you will allow my young friend, Mr. Gwynne, of whose brilliant achievements in our University we are all so proud, to ask his question."

"Very well," said the chairman in no good will.

"Allow me to thank Mr. Allen for his courtesy," said Larry. "Further I wish to say that though by birth, by training, and by conviction I am a pacifist and totally opposed to war, yet to-night I have been profoundly impressed by the imposing array of facts presented by the speaker and by the arguments built upon these facts, and especially by the fine patriotic appeal with which Mr. Allen closed his address. But I am not satisfied, and my question is this—"

"Will not Mr. Gwynne come to the platform?" said Mr. Allen.

"Thank you," said Larry, "I prefer to stay where I am, I am much too shy."

Cries of "Platform! Platform!" however, rose on every side, to which Larry finally yielded, and encouraged by the cheers of his fellow students and of his other friends in the audience, he climbed upon the platform. His slight, graceful form, the look of intellectual strength upon his pale face, his modest bearing, his humorous smile won sympathy even from those who were impatient at the prolonging of the meeting.

"Mr. Chairman," he began with an exaggerated look of fear upon his face, "I confess I am terrified by the position in which I find myself, and were it not that I feel deeply the immense importance of this question and the gravity of the appeal with which the speaker closed his address, I would not have ventured to say a word. My first question is this: Does not Mr. Allen greatly exaggerate the danger of war with Germany? And my reasons for this question are these. Every one knows that the relations between Great Britain and Germany have been steadily improving during the last two or three years. I note in this connection a statement made only a few months ago by the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill. It reads as follows:

"'The Germans are a nation with robust minds and a high sense of honour and fair play. They look at affairs in a practical military spirit. They like to have facts put squarely before them. They do not want them wrapped up lest they should be shocked by them, and relations between the two countries have steadily improved during the past year. They have steadily improved side by side with every evidence of our determination to maintain our naval supremacy.'

"These words spoken in the British House of Commons give us Mr. Winston Churchill's deliberate judgment as to the relations between Germany and Great Britain. Further Mr. Allen knows that during the past two years various peace delegations composed of people of the highest standing in each country have exchanged visits. I understand from private correspondence from those who have promoted these delegations that the last British delegation was received in Germany with the utmost enthusiasm by men of all ranks and professions, generals, admirals, burgomasters, professors and by the Kaiser himself, all professing devotion to the cause of peace and all wishing the delegation Godspeed. Surely these are indications that the danger of war is passing away. You, Sir, have made an appeal for war preparation tonight, a great and solemn appeal and a moving appeal for war—merciful God, for war! I have been reading about war during the past three months, I have been reading again Zola's Debacle—a great appeal for preparedness, you would say. Yes, but a terrific picture of the woes of war."

Larry paused. A great silence had fallen upon the people. There flashed across his mind as he spoke a vision of war's red, reeking way across the fair land of France. In a low but far-penetrating voice, thrilling with the agonies which were spread out before him in vision, he pictured the battlefield with its mad blood lust, the fury of men against men with whom they had no quarrel, the mangled ruins of human remains in dressing station and hospital, the white-faced, wild-eyed women waiting at home, and back of all, safe, snug and cynical, the selfish, ambitious promoters of war. Steady as a marching column without pause or falter, in a tone monotonous yet thrilling with a certain subdued passion, he gave forth his indictment of war. He was on familiar ground for this had been the theme of his prize essay last winter. But to-night the thing to him was vital, terrifying, horrible. He was delivering no set address, but with all the power of his soul he was pleading for comrades and friends, for wives and sweethearts, for little babes and for white-haired mothers, "and in the face of all this, you are asking us to prepare that we Canadians, peaceful and peace-loving, should do our share to perpetrate this unspeakable outrage upon our fellow men, this insolent affront against Almighty God. Tell me, if Canada, if Britain, were to expend one-tenth, one-hundredth part of the energy, skill, wealth, in promoting peace which they spend on war, do you not think we might have a surer hope of warding off from our Canadian homes this unspeakable horror?" With white face and flaming eyes, his form tense and quivering, he stood facing the advocate of war. For some moments, during which men seemed scarcely to breathe, the two faced each other. Then in a voice that rang throughout the theatre as it had not in all his previous speech, but vibrant with sad and passionate conviction, Mr. Allen made reply.

"It is to ward off from our people and from our Canadian homes this calamity that you have so vividly pictured for us that I have made my appeal to-night. Your enemy who seeks your destruction will be more likely to halt in his spring if you cover him with your gun than if you appeal to him with empty hands. For this reason, it is that once more I appeal to my fellow Canadians in God's name, in the name of all that we hold dear, let us with all our power and with all speed prepare for war."

"God Save the King," said the Chairman. And not since the thrilling days of Mafeking had Winnipeg people sung that quaint archaic, but moving anthem as they sang it that night.



CHAPTER XIX

THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR

From the remarks of his friends even as they thronged him, offering congratulations, Mr. Allen could easily gather that however impressive his speech had been, few of his audience had taken his warning seriously.

"You queered my speech, Larry," he said, "but I forgive you."

"Not at all, Sir," replied Larry. "You certainly got me."

"I fear," replied Mr. Allen, "that I am 'the voice crying in the wilderness.'"

At the Allens' party Larry was overwhelmed with congratulations on his speech, the report of which had been carried before him by his friends.

"They tell me your speech was quite thrilling," said Mrs. Allen as she greeted Larry.

"Your husband is responsible for everything," replied Larry.

"No," said Mr. Allen, "Miss Jane here is finally responsible. Hers were the big shells I fired."

"Not mine," replied Jane. "I got them from Mr. Romayne, your brother-in-law, Larry."

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Larry. "That's where the stuff came from! But it was mighty effective, and certainly you put it to us, Mr. Allen. You made us all feel like fighting. Even Scuddy, there, ran amuck for a while."

"What?" said Mr. Allen, "you don't really mean to say that Scudamore, our genial Y. M. C. A. Secretary, was in that scrap? That cheers me greatly."

"Was he!" said Ramsay Dunn, whose flushed face and preternaturally grave demeanour sufficiently explained his failure to appear at Dr. Brown's dinner. "While Mr. Smart's life was saved by the timely upper-cut of our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, without a doubt Mr. Scudamore—hold him there, Scallons, while I adequately depict his achievement—" Immediately Scallons and Ted Tuttle, Scudamore's right and left supports on the scrimmage line, seized him and held him fast. "As I was saying," continued Dunn, "great as were the services rendered to the cause by our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, the supreme glory must linger round the head of our centre scrim and Y. M. C. A. Secretary, Mr. Scudamore, to whose effective intervention both Mr. Smart and Mr. Gwynne owe the soundness of their physical condition which we see them enjoying at the present moment."

In the midst of his flowing periods Dunn paused abruptly and turned away. He had caught sight of Jane's face, grieved and shocked, in the group about him. Later he approached her with every appearance of profound humiliation. "Miss Brown," he said, "I must apologise for not appearing at dinner this evening."

"Oh, Mr. Dunn," said Jane, "why will you do it? Why break the hearts of all your friends?"

"Why? Because I am a fool," he said bitterly. "If I had more friends like you, Miss Brown," he paused abruptly, then burst forth, "Jane, you always make me feel like a beast." But Larry's approach cut short any further conversation.

"Jane, I want to talk to you," said Larry impetuously. "Let us get away somewhere."

In the library they found a quiet spot, where they sat down.

"I want to tell you," said Larry, "that I feel that I treated you shabbily to-day. I have only a poor excuse to offer, but I should like to explain."

"Don't, Larry," said Jane, her words coming with hurried impetuosity. "I was very silly. I had quite forgotten it. You know we have always told each other things, and I expected that you would come in this morning just to talk over your medal, and I did want a chance to say how glad I was for you, and how glad and how proud I knew your mother would be; and to tell the truth really," she added with a shy little laugh, "I wanted to have you congratulate me on my prize too. But, Larry, I understand how you forgot."

"Forgot!" said Larry. "No, Jane, I did not forget, but this telegram from Chicago came last night, and I was busy with my packing all morning and then in the afternoon I thought I would hurry through a few calls—they always take longer than one thinks—and before I knew it I was late for dinner. I had not forgotten; I was thinking of you all day, Jane."

"Were you, Larry?" said Jane, a gentle tenderness in her smile. "I am glad."

Then a silence fell between them for some moments. They were both thinking of the change that was coming to their lives. Larry was wondering how he would ever do without this true-hearted friend whose place in his life he was only discovering now to be so large. He glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing with a soft radiance that seemed to overflow from some inner spring.

"Jane," he cried with a sudden impulse, "you are lovely, you are perfectly lovely."

A shy, startled, eager look leaped into her eyes. Then her face grew pale. She waited, expectant, tremulous. But at that instant a noisy group passed into the library.

"Larry," whispered Jane, turning swiftly to him and laying her hand upon his arm, "you will take me home to-night."

"All right, Jane, of course," said Larry.

As they passed out from the library Helen Brookes met them. "Larry, come here," she said in a voice of suppressed excitement. "Larry, don't you want to do something for me? Scuddy wants to take me home tonight, and I don't want him to."

"But why not, Helen? You ought to be good to Scuddy, poor chap. He's a splendid fellow, and I won't have him abused."

"Not to-night, Larry; I can't have him to-night. You will take me home, won't you? I am going very soon."

"You are, eh? Well, if you can go within ten minutes, I shall be ready."

"Say fifteen," said Helen, turning to meet Lloyd Rushbrook, the Beau Brummel of the college, who came claiming a dance.

Larry at once went in search of Jane to tell her of his engagement with Helen Brookes, but could find her nowhere, and after some time spent in a vain search, he left a message for her with his hostess. At the head of the stairs he found Helen waiting.

"Oh, hurry, Larry," she cried in a fever of excitement. "Let's get away quickly."

"Two minutes will do me," said Larry, rushing into the dressing room.

There he found Scudamore pacing up and down in fierce, gloomy silence.

"You are taking her home, Larry?" he said.

"Who?" said Larry. Then glancing at his face, he added, "Yes, Scuddy, I am taking Helen home. She is apparently in a great hurry."

"She need not be; I shall not bother her any more," said Scuddy bitterly, "and you can tell her that for me, if you like."

"No, I won't tell her that, Scuddy," said Larry, "and, Scuddy," he added, imparting a bit of worldly wisdom, "campaigns are not won in a single battle, and, Scuddy, remember too that the whistling fisherman catches the fish. So cheer up, old boy." But Scuddy only glowered at him.

Larry found Helen awaiting him, and quietly they slipped out together. "This is splendid of you, Larry," she said, taking his arm and giving him a little squeeze.

"I don't know about that, Helen. I left Scuddy raging upstairs there. You girls are the very devil for cruelty sometimes. You get men serious with you, then you flirt and flutter about till the unhappy wretches don't know where they are at. Here's our car."

"Car!" exclaimed Helen. "With this moonlight, Larry? And you going away to-morrow? Not if I know it."

"It is fearfully unromantic, Helen, I know. But I must hurry. I have to take Jane home."

"Oh, Jane! It's always Jane, Jane!"

"Well, why not?" said Larry. "For years Jane has been my greatest pal, my best friend."

"Nothing more?" said Helen earnestly. "Cross your heart, Larry."

"Nothing more, cross my heart and all the rest of it," replied Larry. "Why! here's another car, Helen."

"Oh, Larry, you are horrid, perfectly heartless! We may never walk together again. Here I am throwing myself at you and you only think of getting away back." Under her chaffing words there sounded a deeper note.

"So I see," said Larry, laughing and refusing to hear the deeper undertone. "But I see something else as well."

"What?" challenged Helen.

"I see Scuddy leading out from Trinity some day the loveliest girl in Winnipeg."

"Oh, I won't talk about Scuddy," said Helen impatiently. "I want to talk about you. Tell me about this Chicago business."

For the rest of the way home she led Larry to talk of his plans for the future. At her door Helen held out her hand. "You won't come in, Larry, I know, so we will say good-bye here." Her voice was gentle and earnest. The gay, proud, saucy air which she had ever worn and which had been one of her chief charms, was gone. The moonlight revealed a lovely wistful face from which misty eyes looked into his. "This is the end of our good times together, Larry. And we have had good times. You are going to be a great man some day. I wish you all the best in life."

"Thank you, Helen," said Larry, touched by the tones of her voice and the look in her eyes. "We have been good friends. We shall never be anything else. With my heart I wish you—oh, just everything that is good, Helen dear. Good-bye," he said, leaning toward her. "How lovely you are!" he murmured.

"Good-bye, dear Larry," she whispered, lifting up her face.

"Good-bye, you dear girl," he said, and kissed her.

"Now go," she said, pushing him away from her.

"Be good to Scuddy," he replied as he turned from her and hurried away.

He broke into a run, fearing to be late, and by the time he arrived at the Allens' door he had forgotten all about Helen Brookes and was thinking only of Jane and of what he wanted to say to her. At the inner door he met Macleod and Ethel coming out.

"Jane's gone," said Ethel, "some time ago."

"Gone?" said Larry.

"Yes, Scuddy took her home."

"Are they all gone?" inquired Larry.

"Yes, for the most part."

"Oh, all right then; I think I shall not go in. Good-night," he said, turned abruptly about and set off for Dr. Brown's. He looked again at his watch. He was surprised to find it was not so very late. Why had Jane not waited for him? Had he hurt her again? He was sorely disappointed. Surely she had no reason to be offended, and this was his last night. As he thought the matter over he came to the conclusion that now it was he that had a grievance. Arrived at Dr. Brown's house the only light to be seen was in Jane's room upstairs. Should he go in or should he go home and wait till to-morrow. He was too miserable to think of going home without seeing her. He determined that he must see her at all cost to-night. He took a pebble and flung it up against her window, and another and another. The window opened and Jane appeared.

"Oh, Larry," she whispered. "Is it you? Wait, I shall be down."

She opened the door for him and stood waiting for him to speak. "Why didn't you wait?" he asked, passing into the hall. "I was not very long."

"Why should I wait, Larry?" she said quietly. "Scuddy told me you had gone home with Helen."

"But didn't I promise that I would take you home?"

"You did, and then went away."

"Well, all I have to say, Jane, is that this is not a bit like you. I am sorry I brought you down, and I won't keep you any longer. Good-night. I shall see you tomorrow."

But Jane got between him and the door and stood with her back to it. "No, Larry, you are not going away like that. Go into the study." Larry looked at her in astonishment. This was indeed a new Jane to him. Wrathful, imperious, she stood waving him toward the study door. In spite of his irritation he was conscious of a new admiration for her. Feeling a little like a boy about to receive his punishment, he passed into the study.

"Didn't Mrs. Allen give you my message?" he said.

"Your message, Larry?" cried Jane, a light breaking upon her face. "Did you leave a message for me?"

"I did. I told Mrs. Allen to tell you where I had gone—Helen was so anxious to go—and that I would be right back." Larry's voice was full of reproach.

"Oh, Larry, I am so glad," said Jane, her tone indicating the greatness of her relief. "I knew it was all right—that something had prevented. I am so glad you came in. You must have thought me queer."

"No," said Larry, appeased, "I knew all the time there must be some explanation, only I was feeling so miserable."

"And I was miserable, too, Larry," she said gently. "It seemed a pity that this should happen on our last night." All her wrath was gone. She was once more the Jane that Larry had always known, gentle, sweet, straightforward, and on her face the old transfiguring smile. Before this change of mood all his irritation vanished. Humbled, penitent, and with a rush of warm affection filling his heart, he said,

"I should have known you were not to blame, but you are always right. Never once in all these years have you failed me. You always understand a fellow. Do you know I am wondering how I shall ever do without you? Have you thought, Jane, that to-morrow this old life of ours together will end?"

"Yes, Larry." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and in her eyes an eager light shone.

"It just breaks my heart, Jane. We have been—we are such good friends. If we had only fallen in love with each other.—But that would have spoiled it all. We are not like other people; we have been such chums, Jane."

"Yes, Larry," she said again, but the eager light had faded from her eyes.

"Let's sit a bit, Larry," she said. "I am tired, and you are tired, too," she added quickly, "after your hard day."

For a little time they sat in silence together, both shrinking from the parting that they knew was so near. Larry gazed at her, wondering to himself that he had ever thought her plain. Tonight she seemed beautiful and very dear to him. Next to his mother, was her place in his heart. Was this that he felt for her what they called love? With all his soul he wished he could take her in his arms and say, "Jane, I love you." But still he knew that his words would not ring true. More than that, Jane would know it too. Besides, might not her feeling for him be of the same quality? What could he say in this hour which he recognised to be a crisis in their lives? Sick at heart and oppressed with his feeling of loneliness and impotence, he could only look at her in speechless misery. Then he thought she, too, was suffering, the same misery was filling her heart. She looked utterly spent and weary.

"Jane," he said desperately. She started. She, too, had been thinking. "Scuddy is in love with Helen, Macleod is in love with Ethel. I wish to God I had fallen in love with you and you with me. Then we would have something to look forward to. Do you know, Jane, I am like a boy leaving home? We are going to drift apart. Others will come between us."

"No, Larry," cried Jane with quick vehemence. "Not that. You won't let that come."

"Can we help it, Jane?" Then her weariness appealed to him. "It is a shame to keep you up. I have given you a hard day, Jane." She shook her head. "And there is no use waiting. We can only say good-bye." He rose from his chair. Should he kiss her, he asked himself. He had had no hesitation in kissing Helen an hour ago. That seemed a light thing to him, but somehow he shrank from offering to kiss Jane. If he could only say sincerely, "Jane, I love you," then he could kiss her, but this he could not say truly. Anything but perfect sincerity he knew she would detect; and she would be outraged by it. Yet as he stood looking down upon her pale face, her wavering smile, her quivering lips, he was conscious of a rush of pity and of tenderness almost uncontrollable.

"Good-bye, Jane; God keep you always, dear, dear Jane." He held her hands, looking into the deep blue eyes that looked back at him so bravely. He felt that he was fast losing his grip upon himself, and he must hurry away.

"Good-bye, Larry," she said simply.

"Good-bye," he said again in a husky voice. Abruptly he turned and left her and passed out through the door.

Sore, sick at heart, he stumbled down the steps. "My God," he cried, "what a fool I am! Why didn't I kiss her? I might have done that at least."

He stood looking at the closed door, struggling against an almost irresistible impulse to return and take her in his arms. Did he not love her? What other was this that filled his heart? Could he honestly say, "Jane, I want you for my wife"? He could not. Miserable and cursing himself he went his way.



CHAPTER XX

THE GERMAN TYPE OF CITIZENSHIP

Mr. Dean Wakeham was always glad to have a decent excuse to run up to the Lakeside Farm. His duties at the Manor Mine were not so pressing that he could not on occasion take leave of absence, but to impose himself upon the Lakeside household as frequently as he desired made it necessary for him to utilise all possible excuses. In the letter which he held in his hand and which he had just read he fancied he had found a perfectly good excuse for a call. The letter was from his sister Rowena and was dated May 15th, 1914. It was upon his sister's letters that he depended for information regarding the family life generally and about herself in particular. His mother's letters were intimate and personal, reflecting, however, various phases of her ailments, her anxieties for each member of the family, but especially for her only son now so far from her in that wild and uncivilised country, but ever overflowing with tender affection. Dean always put down his mother's letters with a smile of gentle pity on his face. "Poor, dear Mater," he would say. "She is at rest about me only when she has me safely tucked up in my little bed." His father's letters kept him in touch with the office and, by an illuminating phrase or two, with the questions of Big Business. But when he had finished Rowena's letters he always felt as if he had been paying a visit to his home. Through her letters his sister had the rare gift of transmitting atmosphere. There were certain passages in his letter just received which he felt he should at the earliest moment share with the Lakeside Farm people, in other words, with Nora.

His car conveyed him with all speed to Lakeside Farm in good time for the evening meal. To the assembled family Dean proceeded to read passages which he considered of interest to them. "'Well, your Canadian has really settled down into his place in the office and into his own rooms. It was all we could do to hold him with us for a month, he is so fearfully independent. Are all Canadians like that? The Mater would have been glad to have had him remain a month longer. But would he stay? He has a way with him. He has struck up a terrific friendship with Hugo Raeder. You remember the Yale man who has come to Benedick, Frame and Company, father's financial people? Quite a presentable young man he is of the best Yale type, which is saying something. Larry and he have tied up to each other in quite a touching way. In the office, too, Larry has found his place. He captured old Scread the very first day by working out some calculations that had been allowed to accumulate, using some method of his own which quite paralysed the old chap. Oh, he has a way with him, that Canadian boy! Father, too, has fallen for him. To hear him talk you would imagine that he fully intended handing over ere long the business to Larry's care. The Mater has adopted him as well, but with reservations. Of course, what is troubling her is her dread of a Canadian invasion of her household, especially—'um um—" At this point Mr. Dean Wakeham read a portion of the letter to himself with slightly heightened colour. "'While as for Elfie, he has captured her, baggage and bones. The little monkey apparently lives only for him. While as for Larry, you would think that the office and the family were the merest side issues in comparison with the kid. All the same it is very beautiful to see them together. At times you would think they were the same age and both children. At other times she regards him with worshipful eyes and drinks in his words as if he were some superior being and she his equal in age and experience. She has taken possession of him, and never hesitates to carry him off to her own quarters, apparently to his delight. Oh, he has a way with him, that Canadian boy! The latest is that he has invited Elfie to stay a month with him in Alberta when he gets his first holiday. He has raved to her over Polly. Elfie, I believe, has accepted his invitation regardless of the wishes of either family. The poor little soul is really better, I believe, for his companionship. She is not so fretful and she actually takes her medicine without a fight and goes to bed at decent hours upon the merest hint of his Lordship's desire in the matter. In short, he has the family quite prostrate before him. I alone have been able to stand upright and maintain my own individuality.'"

"I am really awfully glad about the kid," said Dean. "After all she really has rather a hard time. She is so delicate and needs extra care and attention, and that, I am afraid, has spoiled her a bit."

"Why shouldn't the little girl spend a few weeks with us here this summer, Mr. Wakeham?" said Mrs. Gwynne. "Will you not say to your mother that we should take good care of her?"

"Oh, Mrs. Gwynne, that is awfully good of you, but I am a little afraid you would find her quite a handful. As I have said, she is a spoiled little monkey and not easy to do with. She would give you all a lot of trouble," added Dean, looking at Nora.

"Trouble? Not at all," said Nora. "She could do just as she likes here. We would give her Polly and let her roam. And on the farm she would find a number of things to interest her."

"It would be an awfully good thing for her, I know," said Dean, vainly trying to suppress the eagerness in his tone, "and if you are really sure that it would not be too much of a burden I might write."

"No burden at all, Mr. Wakeham," said Mrs. Gwynne. "If you will write and ask Mrs. Wakeham, and bring her with you when you return, we shall do what we can to make her visit a happy one, and indeed, it may do the dear child a great deal of good."

Thus it came about that the little city child, delicate, fretted, spoiled, was installed in the household at Lakeside Farm for a visit which lengthened out far beyond its original limits. The days spent upon the farm were full of bliss to her, the only drawback to the perfect happiness of the little girl being the separation from her beloved fidus Achates, with whom she maintained an epistolary activity extraordinarily intimate and vivid. Upon this correspondence the Wakeham family came chiefly to depend for enlightenment as to the young lady's activities and state of health, and it came to be recognised as part of Larry's duty throughout the summer to carry a weekly bulletin regarding Elfie's health and manners to the Lake Shore summer home, where the Wakehams sought relief from the prostrating heat of the great city. These week ends at the Lake Shore home were to Larry his sole and altogether delightful relief from the relentless drive of business that even throughout the hottest summer weather knew neither let nor pause.

It became custom that every Saturday forenoon Rowena's big car would call at the Rookery Building and carry off her father, if he chanced to be in town, and Larry to the Lake Shore home. An hour's swift run over the perfect macadam of the Lake Shore road that wound through park and boulevard, past splendid summer residences of Chicago financial magnates, through quiet little villages and by country farms, always with gleams of Michigan's blue-grey waters, and always with Michigan's exhilarating breezes in their faces, would bring them to the cool depths of Birchwood's shades and silences, where for a time the hustle and heat and roar of the big city would be as completely forgotten as if a thousand miles away. It was early on a breathless afternoon late in July when from pavement and wall the quivering air smote the face as if blown from an opened furnace that Rowena drove her car down La Salle Street and pulled up at the Rookery Building resolved to carry off with her as a special treat "her men" for an evening at Birchwood.

"Come along, Larry, it is too hot to live in town today," she said as she passed through the outer office where the young man had his desk. "I am just going in to get father, so don't keep me waiting."

"Miss Wakeham, why will you add to the burdens of the day by breezing thus in upon us and making us discontented with our lot. I cannot possibly accept your invitation this afternoon."

"What? Not to-day, with the thermometer at ninety-four? Nonsense!" said the young lady brusquely. "You look fit to drop."

"It is quite useless," said Larry with a sigh. "You see we have a man in all the way from Colorado to get plans of a mine which is in process of reconstruction. These plans will take hours to finish. The work is pressing, in short must be done to-day."

"Now, look here, young man. All work in this office is pressing but none so pressing that it cannot pause at my command."

"But this man is due to leave to-morrow."

"Oh, I decline to talk about it; it is much too hot. Just close up your desk," said the young lady, as she swept on to her father's office.

In a short time she returned, bearing that gentleman in triumph with her. "Not ready?" she said. "Really you are most exasperating, Larry."

"You may as well throw up your hands, Larry. You'd better knock off for the day," said Mr. Wakeham. "It is really too hot to do anything else than surrender."

"You see, it is like this, sir," said Larry. "It is that Colorado mine reconstruction business. Their manager, Dimock, is here. He must leave, he says, tomorrow morning. Mr. Scread thinks he should get these off as soon as possible. So it is necessary that I stick to it till we get it done."

"How long will it take?" said Mr. Wakeham.

"I expect to finish to-night some time. I have already had a couple of hours with Dimock to-day. He has left me the data."

"Well, I am very sorry, indeed," said Mr. Wakeham. "It is a great pity you cannot come with us, and you look rather fagged. Dimock could not delay, eh?"

"He says he has an appointment at Kansas City which he must keep."

"Oh, it is perfect rubbish," exclaimed Rowena impatiently, "and we have a party on to-night. Your friend, Mr. Hugh Raeder, is to be out, and Professor Schaefer and a friend of his, and some perfectly charming girls."

"But why tell me these things now, Miss Wakeham," said Larry, "when you know it is impossible for me to come?"

"You won't come?"

"I can't come."

"Come along then, father," she said, and with a stiff little bow she left Larry at his desk.

Before the car moved off Larry came hurrying out.

"Here is Elfie's letter," he said. "Perhaps Mrs. Wakeham would like to see it." Miss Wakeham was busy at the wheel and gave no sign of having heard or seen. So her father reached over and took the letter from him.

"Do you know," said Larry gravely, "I do not think it is quite so hot as it was. I almost fancy I feel a chill."

"A chill?" said Mr. Wakeham anxiously. "What do you mean?"

Miss Wakeham bit her lip, broke into a smile and then into a laugh. "Oh, he's a clever thing, he is," she said. "I hope you may have a real good roast this afternoon."

"I hope you will call next Saturday," said Larry earnestly. "It is sure to be hot."

"You don't deserve it or anything else that is good."

"Except your pity. Think what I am missing."

"Get in out of the heat," she cried as the car slipped away.

For some blocks Miss Wakeham was busy getting her car through the crush of the traffic, but as she swung into the Park Road she remarked, "That young man takes himself too seriously. You would think the business belonged to him."

"I wish to God I had more men in my office," said her father, "who thought the same thing. Do you know, young lady, why it is that so many greyheads are holding clerk's jobs? Because clerks do not feel that the business is their own. The careless among them are working for five o'clock, and the keen among them are out for number one. Do you know if that boy keeps on thinking that the business is his he will own a big slice of it or something better before he quits. I confess I was greatly pleased that you failed to move him."

"All the same, he is awfully stubborn," said his daughter.

"You can't bully him as you do your old dad, eh?"

"I had counted on him for our dinner party to-night. I particularly want to have him meet Professor Schaefer, and now we will have a girl too many. It just throws things out."

They rolled on in silence for some time through the park when suddenly her father said, "He may be finished by six o'clock, and Michael could run in for him."

At six o'clock Miss Wakeham called Larry on the 'phone. "Are you still at it?" she enquired. "And when will you be finished?"

"An hour, I think, will see me through," he replied.

"Then," said Miss Wakeham, "a little before seven o'clock the car will be waiting at your office door."

"Hooray!" cried Larry. "You are an angel. I will be through."

At a quarter of seven Larry was standing on the pavement, which was still radiating heat, and so absorbed in watching for the Wakehams' big car that he failed to notice a little Mercer approaching till it drew up at his side.

"What, you, Miss Rowena?" he cried. "Your own self? How very lovely of you, and through all this heat!"

"Me," replied the girl, "only me. I thought it might still be hot and a little cool breeze would be acceptable. But jump in."

"Cool breeze, I should say so!" exclaimed Larry. "A lovely, cool, sweet spring breeze over crocuses and violets! But, I say, I must go to my room for my clothes."

"No evening clothes to-night," exclaimed Rowena.

"Ah, but I have a new, lovely, cool suit that I have been hoping to display at Birchwood. These old things would hardly do at your dinner table."

"We'll go around for it. Do get in. Do you know, I left my party to come for you, partly because I was rather nasty this afternoon?"

"You were indeed," said Larry. "You almost broke my heart, but this wipes all out; my heart is singing again. That awfully jolly letter of Elfie's this week made me quite homesick for the open and for the breezes of the Alberta foothills."

"Tell me what she said," said Rowena, not because she wanted so much to hear Elfie's news but because she loved to hear him talk, and upon no subject could Larry wax so eloquent as upon the foothill country of Alberta. Long after they had secured Larry's new suit and gone on their way through park and boulevard, Larry continued to expatiate upon the glories of Alberta hills and valleys, upon its cool breezes, its flowing rivers and limpid lakes, and always the western rampart of the eternal snow-clad peaks.

"And how is the mine doing?" inquired Rowena, for Larry had fallen silent.

"The mine? Oh, there's trouble there, I am afraid. Switzer—you have heard of Switzer?"

"Oh, yes, I know all about him and his tragic disappointment. He's the manager, isn't he?"

"The manager? No, he's the secretary, but in this case it means the same thing, for he runs the mine. Well, Switzer wants to sell his stock. He and his father hold about twenty-five thousand dollars between them. He means to resign. And to make matters worse, the manager left last week. They are both pulling out, and it makes it all the worse, for they had just gone in for rather important extensions. I am anxious a bit. You see they are rather hard up for money, and father raised all he could on his ranch and on his mining stock."

"How much is involved?" inquired Rowena.

"Oh, not so much money as you people count it, but for us it is all we have. He raised some fifty thousand dollars. While the mine goes on and pays it is safe enough, but if the mine quits then it is all up with us. There is no reason for anxiety at present as far as the mine is concerned, however. It is doing splendidly and promises better every day. But Switzer's going will embarrass them terribly. He was a perfect marvel for work and he could handle the miners as no one else could. Most of them, you know, are his own people."

"I see you are worrying," said Rowena, glancing at his face, which she thought unusually pale.

"Not a bit. At least, not very much. Jack is a levelheaded chap—Jack Romayne, I mean—my brother-in-law. By the way, I had a wire to say that young Jack had safely arrived."

"Young Jack? Oh, I understand. Then you are Uncle Larry."

"I am. How ancient I feel! And what a lot of responsibility it lays upon me!"

"I hope your sister is quite well."

"Everything fine, so I am informed. But what was I saying? Oh, yes, Jack is a level-headed chap and his brother-in-law, Waring-Gaunt, who is treasurer of the company, is very solid. So I think there's no doubt but that they will be able to make all necessary arrangements."

"Well, don't worry to-night," said Rowena. "I want you to have a good time. I am particularly anxious that you should meet and like Professor Schaefer."

"A German, eh?" said Larry.

"Yes—that is, a German-American. He is a metallurgist, quite wonderful, I believe. He does a lot of work for father, and you will doubtless have a good deal to do with him yourself. And he spoke so highly of Canada and of Canadians that I felt sure you would be glad to meet him. He is really a very charming man, musical and all that, but chiefly he is a man of high intelligence and quite at the top of his profession. He asked to bring a friend of his with him, a Mr. Meyer, whom I do not know at all; but he is sure to be interesting if he is a friend of Professor Schaefer's. We have some nice girls, too, so we hope to have an interesting evening."

The company was sufficiently varied to forbid monotony, and sufficiently intellectual to be stimulating, and there was always the background of Big Business. Larry was conscious that he was moving amid large ideas and far-reaching interests, and that though he himself was a small element, he was playing a part not altogether insignificant, with a promise of bigger things in the future. Professor Schaefer became easily the centre of interest in the party. He turned out to be a man of the world. He knew great cities and great men. He was a connoisseur in art and something more than an amateur in music. His piano playing, indeed, was far beyond that of the amateur. But above everything he was a man of his work. He knew metals and their qualities as perhaps few men in America, and he was enthusiastic in his devotion to his profession. After dinner, with apologies to the ladies, he discoursed from full and accurate knowledge of the problems to be met within his daily work and their solutions. He was frequently highly technical, but to everything he touched he lent a charm that captivated his audience. To Larry he was especially gracious. He was interested in Canada. He apparently had a minute knowledge of its mineral history, its great deposits in metals, in coal, and oil, which he declared to be among the richest in the world. The mining operations, however, carried out in Canada, he dismissed as being unworthy of consideration. He deplored the lack of scientific knowledge and the absence of organisation.

"We should do that better in our country. Ah, if only our Government would take hold of these deposits," he exclaimed, "the whole world should hear of them." The nickel mining industry alone in the Sudbury district he considered worthy of respect. Here he became enthusiastic. "If only my country had such a magnificent bit of ore!" he cried. "But such bungling, such childish trifling with one of the greatest, if not the very greatest, mining industries in the world! To think that the Government of Canada actually allows the refining of that ore to be done outside of its own country! Folly, folly, criminal folly! But it is all the same in this country, too. The mining work in America is unscientific, slovenly, unorganised, wasteful. I am sorry to say," he continued, turning suddenly upon Larry, "in your western coal fields you waste more in the smoke of your coke ovens than you make out of your coal mines. Ah, if only those wonderful, wonderful coal fields were under the organised and scientific direction of my country! Then you would see—ah, what would you not see!"

"Your country?" said Hugo Raeder, smiling. "I understood you were an American, Professor Schaefer."

"An American? Surely! I have been eighteen years in this country."

"You are a citizen, I presume?" said Mr. Wakeham.

"A citizen? Yes. I neglected that matter till recently; but I love my Fatherland."

"Speaking of citizenship, I have always wanted to know about the Delbruck Law, Professor Schaefer, in regard to citizenship," said Larry.

The professor hesitated, "The Delbruck Law?"

"Yes," said Larry. "How does it affect, for instance, your American citizenship?"

"Not at all, I should say. Not in the very least," replied Professor Schaefer curtly and as if dismissing the subject.

"I am not so sure of that, Professor Schaefer," said Hugo Raeder. "I was in Germany when that law was passed. It aroused a great deal of interest. I have not looked into it myself, but on the face of it I should say it possesses certain rather objectionable features."

"Not at all, not at all, I assure you," exclaimed Professor Schaefer. "It is simply a concession to the intense, but very natural affection for the Fatherland in every German heart, while at the same time it facilitates citizenship in a foreign country. For instance, there are millions of Germans living in America who like myself shrank from taking the oath which breaks the bond with the Fatherland. We love America, we are Americans, we live in America, we work in America; but naturally our hearts turn to Germany, and we cannot forget our childhood's home. That is good, that is worthy, that is noble—hence the Delbruck Law."

"But what does it provide exactly?" enquired Mr. Wakeham. "I confess I never heard of it."

"It permits a German to become an American citizen, and at the same time allows him to retain his connection, his heart connection, with the Fatherland. It is a beautiful law."

"A beautiful law," echoed his friend, Mr. Meyer.

"Just what is the connection?" insisted Hugo Raeder.

"Dear friend, let me explain to you. It permits him to retain his place, his relations with his own old country people. You can surely see the advantage of that. For instance: When I return to Germany I find myself in full possession of all my accustomed privileges. I am no stranger. Ah, it is beautiful! And you see further how it establishes a new bond between the two countries. Every German-American will become a bond of unity between these two great nations, the two great coming nations of the world."

"Beautiful, beautiful, glorious!" echoed Meyer.

"But I do not understand," said Larry. "Are you still a citizen of Germany?"

"I am an American citizen, and proud of it," exclaimed Professor Schaefer, dramatically.

"Ach, so, geviss," said Meyer. "Sure! an American citizen!"

"But you are also a citizen of Germany?" enquired Hugo Raeder.

"If I return to Germany I resume the rights of my German citizenship, of course."

"Beautiful, beautiful!" exclaimed Meyer.

"Look here, Schaefer. Be frank about this. Which are you to-day, a citizen of Germany or of America?"

"Both, I tell you," exclaimed Schaefer proudly. "That is the beauty of the arrangement."

"Ah, a beautiful arrangement!" said Meyer.

"What? You are a citizen of another country while you claim American citizenship?" said Raeder. "You can no more be a citizen of two countries at the same time than the husband of two wives at the same time."

"Well, why not?" laughed Schaefer. "An American wife for America, and a German wife for Germany. You will excuse me," he added, bowing toward Mrs. Wakeham.

"Don't be disgusting," said Hugo Raeder. "Apart from the legal difficulty the chief difficulty about that scheme would be that whatever the German wife might have to say to such an arrangement, no American wife would tolerate it for an instant."

"I was merely joking, of course," said Schaefer.

"But, Professor Schaefer, suppose war should come between Germany and America," said Larry.

"War between Germany and America—the thing is preposterous nonsense, not to be considered among the possibilities!"

"But as a mere hypothesis for the sake of argument, what would your position be?" persisted Larry.

Professor Schaefer was visibly annoyed. "I say the hypothesis is nonsense and unthinkable," he cried.

"Come on, Schaefer, you can't escape it like that, you know," said Hugo Raeder. "By that law of yours, where would your allegiance be should war arise? I am asking what actually would be your standing. Would you be a German citizen or an American citizen?"

"The possibility does not exist," said Professor Schaefer.

"Quite impossible," exclaimed Meyer.

"Well, what of other countries then?" said Hugo, pursuing the subject with a wicked delight. His sturdy Americanism resented this bigamous citizenship. "What of France or Britain?"

"Ah," said Professor Schaefer with a sharpening of his tone. "That is quite easy."

"You would be a German, eh?" said Raeder.

"You ask me," exclaimed Professor Schaefer, "you ask me as between Germany and France, or between Germany and Britain? I reply," he exclaimed with a dramatic flourish of his hand, "I am a worshipper of the life-giving sun, not of the dead moon; I follow the dawn, not the dying day."

But this was too much for Larry. "Without discussing which is the sun and which is the moon, about which we might naturally differ, Professor Schaefer, I want to be quite clear upon one point. Do I understand you to say that if you were, say a naturalised citizen of Canada, having sworn allegiance to our Government, enjoying the full rights and privileges of our citizenship, you at the same time would be free to consider yourself a citizen of Germany, and in case of war with Britain, you would feel in duty bound to support Germany? And is it that which the Delbruck Law is deliberately drawn, to permit you to do?"

"Well put, Larry!" exclaimed Hugo Raeder, to whom the German's attitude was detestable.

Professor Schaefer's lips curled in an unpleasant smile. "Canada, Canadian citizenship! My dear young man, pardon! Allow me to ask you a question. If Britain were at war with Germany, do you think it at all likely that Canada would allow herself to become involved in a European war? Canada is a proud, young, virile nation. Would she be likely to link her fortunes with those of a decadent power? Excuse me a moment," checking Larry's impetuous reply with his hand. "Believe me, we know something about these things. We make it our business to know. You acknowledge that we know something about your mines; let me assure you that there is nothing about your country that we do not know. Nothing. Nothing. We know the feeling in Canada. Where would Canada be in such a war? Not with Germany, I would not say that. But would she stand with England?"

Larry sprang to his feet. "Where would Canada be? Let me tell you, Professor Schaefer," shaking his finger in the professor's face. "To her last man and her last dollar Canada would be with the Empire."

"Hear, hear!" shouted Hugo Raeder.

The professor looked incredulous. "And yet," he said with a sneer, "one-half of your people voted for Reciprocity with the United States."

"Reciprocity! And yet you say you know Canada," exclaimed Larry in a tone of disgust. "Do you know, sir, what defeated Reciprocity with this country? Not hostility to the United States; there is nothing but the kindliest feeling among Canadians for Americans. But I will tell you what defeated Reciprocity. It was what we might call the ultra loyal spirit of the Canadian people toward the Empire. The Canadians were Empire mad. The bare suggestion of the possibility of any peril to the Empire bond made them throw out Sir Wilfrid Laurier and the Liberal Party. That, of course, with other subordinate causes."

"I fancy our Mr. Taft helped a bit," said Hugo Raeder.

"Undoubtedly Mr. Taft's unfortunate remarks were worked to the limit by the Conservative Party. But all I say is that any suggestion, I will not say of disloyalty, but even of indifference, to the Empire of Canada is simply nonsense."

At this point a servant brought in a telegram and handed it to Mr. Wakeham. "Excuse me, my dear," he said to his wife, opened the wire, read it, and passed it to Hugo Raeder. "From your chief, Hugo."

"Much in that, do you think, sir?" inquired Hugo, passing the telegram back to him.

"Oh, a little flurry in the market possibly," said Mr. Wakeham. "What do you think about that, Schaefer?" Mr. Wakeham continued, handing him the wire.

Professor Schaefer glanced at the telegram. "My God!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "It is come, it is come at last!" He spoke hurriedly in German to his friend, Meyer, and handed him the telegram.

Meyer read it. "God in heaven!" he cried. "It is here!" In intense excitement he poured forth a torrent of interrogations in German, receiving animated replies from Professor Schaefer. Then grasping the professor's hand in both of his, he shook it with wild enthusiasm.

"At last!" he cried. "At last! Thank God, our day has come!"

Completely ignoring the rest of the company, the two Germans carried on a rapid and passionate conversation in their own tongue with excited gesticulations, which the professor concluded by turning to his hostess and saying, "Mrs. Wakeham, you will excuse us. Mr. Wakeham, you can send us to town at once?"

By this time the whole company were upon their feet gazing with amazement upon the two excited Germans.

"But what is it?" cried Mrs. Wakeham. "What has happened? Is there anything wrong? What is it, Professor Schaefer? What is your wire about, Garrison?"

"Oh, nothing at all, my dear, to get excited about. My financial agent wires me that the Press will announce to-morrow that Austria has presented an ultimatum to Servia demanding an answer within forty-eight hours."

"Oh, is that all," she said in a tone of vast relief. "What a start you all gave me. An ultimatum to Servia? What is it all about?"

"Why, you remember, my dear, the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand about three weeks ago?"

"Oh, yes, I remember. I had quite forgotten it. Poor thing, how terrible it was! Didn't they get the murderer? It seems to me they caught him."

"You will excuse us, Mrs. Wakeham," said Professor Schaefer, approaching her. "We deeply regret leaving this pleasant party and your hospitable home, but it is imperative that we go."

"But, my dear Professor Schaefer, to-night?" exclaimed Mrs. Wakeham.

"Why, Schaefer, what's the rush? Are you caught in the market?" said Wakeham with a little laugh. "You cannot do anything to-night at any rate, you know. We will have you in early to-morrow morning."

"No, no, to-night, now, immediately!" shouted Meyer in uncontrollable excitement.

"But why all the excitement, Schaefer?" said Hugo Raeder, smiling at him. "Austria has presented an ultimatum to Servia—what about it?"

"What about it? Oh, you Americans; you are so provincial. Did you read the ultimatum? Do you know what it means? It means war!"

"War!" cried Meyer. "War at last! Thank God! Tonight must we in New York become."

Shaking hands hurriedly with Mrs. Wakeham, and with a curt bow to the rest of the company, Meyer hurriedly left the room, followed by Professor Schaefer and Mr. Wakeham.

"Aren't they funny!" said Rowena. "They get so excited about nothing."

"Well, it is hardly nothing," said Hugo Raeder. "Any European war is full of all sorts of possibilities. You cannot throw matches about in a powder magazine without some degree of danger."

"May I read the ultimatum?" said Larry to Mrs. Wakeham, who held the telegram in her hand.

"Pretty stiff ultimatum," said Hugo Raeder. "Read it out, Larry."

"Servia will have to eat dirt," said Larry when he had finished. "Listen to this: She must 'accept the collaboration in Servia of representatives of the Austro-Hungarian Government for the consideration of the subversive movements directed against the Territorial integrity of the Monarchy.' 'Accept collaboration' of the representatives of the Austro-hungarian Government in this purely internal business, mind you. And listen to this: 'Delegates of the Austro-Hungarian Government will take part in the investigation relating thereto.' Austrian lawyers and probably judges investigating Servian subjects in Servia? Why, the thing is impossible."

"It is quite evident," said Hugo Raeder, "that Austria means war."

"Poor little Servia, she will soon be eaten up," said Rowena. "She must be bankrupt from her last war."

"But why all this excitement on the part of our German friends?" inquired Mrs. Wakeham. "What has Germany to do with Austria and Servia?"

At this point Professor Schaefer and his friend re-entered the room ready for their departure.

"I was just inquiring," said Mrs. Wakeham, "how this ultimatum of Austria's to Servia can affect Germany particularly."

"Affect Germany?" cried Professor Schaefer.

"Yes," said Hugo Raeder, "what has Germany to do with the scrap unless she wants to butt in?"

"Ha! ha! My dear man, have you read no history of the last twenty years? But you Americans know nothing about history, nothing about anything except your own big, overgrown country."

"I thought you were an American citizen, Schaefer?" inquired Hugo.

"An American," exclaimed Schaefer, "an American, ah, yes, certainly; but in Europe and in European politics, a German, always a German."

"But why should Germany butt in?" continued Hugo.

"Butt in, Germany butt in? Things cannot be settled in Europe without Germany. Besides, there is Russia longing for the opportunity to attack."

"To attack Germany?"

"To attack Austria first, Germany's ally and friend, and then Germany. The trouble is you Americans do not live in the world. You are living on your own continent here removed from the big world, ignorant of all world movements, the most provincial people in all the world. Else you would not ask me such foolish questions. This ultimatum means war. First, Austria against Servia; Russia will help Servia; France will help Russia; Germany will help Austria. There you have the beginning of a great European war. How far this conflagration will spread, only God knows."

The car being announced, the Germans made a hurried exit, in their overpowering excitement omitting the courtesy of farewells to household and guests.

"They seem to be terribly excited, those Germans," said Miss Rowena.

"They are," said Hugo; "I am glad I am not a German. To a German war is so much the biggest thing in life."

"It is really too bad," said Mrs. Wakeham; "we shall not have the pleasure of Professor Schaefer's music. He plays quite exquisitely. You would all have greatly enjoyed it. Rowena, you might play something. Well, for my part," continued Mrs. Wakeham, settling herself placidly in her comfortable chair, "I am glad I am an American. Those European countries, it seems to me, are always in some trouble or other."

"I am glad I am a Canadian," said Larry. "We are much too busy to think of anything so foolish and useless as war."



CHAPTER XXI

WAR

"Come, Jane, we have just time to take a look at the lake from the top of the hill before we get ready for church," said Ethel Murray. "It will be worth seeing to-day."

"Me too, me too," shrieked two wee girls in bare legs and sandals, clutching Jane about the legs.

"All right, Isabel; all right, Helen. I'll take you with me," said Jane. "But you must let me go, you know."

They all raced around the house and began to climb the sheer, rocky hill that rose straight up from the rear.

"Here, Jim, help me with these kiddies," said Jane to a lank lad of fifteen, whom she ran into at the corner of the house just where the climb began.

Jim swung the younger, little Helen, upon his shoulder and together they raced to the top, scrambling, slipping, falling, but finally arriving there, breathless and triumphant. Before them lay a bit of Canada's loveliest lake, the Lake of the Woods, so-called from its myriad, heavily wooded islands, that make of its vast expanse a maze of channels, rivers and waterways. Calm, without a ripple, lay the glassy, sunlit surface, each island, rock and tree meeting its reflected image at the water line, the sky above flecked with floating clouds, making with the mirrored sky below one perfect whole.

"Oh, Ethel, I had forgotten just how beautiful this is," breathed Jane, while the rest stood silent looking down upon the mirrored rocks and islands, trees and sky.

Even the two little girls stood perfectly still, for they had been taught to take the first views from the top in silence.

"Look at the Big Rock," said Helen. "They are two rocks kissing each other."

"Oh, you little sweetheart," said Jane, kissing her. "That is just what they are doing. It is not often that you get it so perfectly still as this, is it, Jim?"

"Not so very often. Sometimes just at sunrise you get it this way."

"At sunrise! Do you very often see it then?"

"Yes, he gets up to catch fishes," said wee Helen.

"Do you?"

Jim nodded. "Are you game to come along to-morrow morning?"

"At what hour?"

"Five o'clock."

"Don't do it, Jane," said Ethel. "It tires you for the day."

"I will come, Jim; I would love to come," said Jane.

For some time they stood gazing down upon the scene below them. Then turning to the children abruptly, Ethel said, "Now, then, children, you run down and get ready; that is, if you are going to church. Take them down, Jim."

"All right, Ethel," said Jim. "See there, Jane," he continued, "that neck of land across the traverse—that's where the old Hudson Bay trail used to run that goes from the Big Lakes to Winnipeg. It's the old war trail of the Crees too. Wouldn't you like to have seen them in the old days?"

"I would run and hide," said Isabel, "so they could not see me."

"I would not be afraid," said Helen, straightening up to her full height of six years. "I would shoot them dead."

"Poor things," said Jane, in a pitiful voice. "And then their little babies at home would cry and cry."

Helen looked distressed. "I would not shoot the ones that had babies."

"But then," said Jane, "the poor wives would sit on the ground and wail and wail, like the Indians we heard the other night. Oh, it sounded very sad."

"I would not shoot the ones with wives or babies or anything," said Helen, determined to escape from her painful dilemma.

"Oh, only the boys and young men?" said Jane. "And then the poor old mothers would cry and cry and tear their hair for the boys who would never come back."

Helen stood in perplexed silence. Then she said shyly, "I wouldn't shoot any of them unless they tried to shoot me or Mother or Daddy."

"Or me," said Jane, throwing her arms around the little girl.

"Yes," said Helen, "or you, or anybody in our house."

"That seems a perfectly safe place to leave it, Helen," said Ethel. "I think even the most pronounced pacifist would accept that as a justification of war. I fancy that is why poor little Servia is fighting big bullying Austria to-day. But run down now; hurry, hurry; the launch will be ready in a few minutes, and if you are not ready you know Daddy won't wait."

But they were ready and with the round dozen, which with the visitors constituted the Murray household at their island home, they filled the launch, Jim at the wheel. It was a glorious Sunday morning and the whole world breathed peace. Through the mazes of the channels among the wooded islands the launch made its way, across open traverse, down long waterways like rivers between high, wooded banks, through cuts and gaps, where the waters boiled and foamed, they ran, for the most part drinking in silently the exquisite and varied beauty of lake and sky and woods. Silent they were but for the quiet talk and cheery laughter of the younger portion of the company, until they neared the little town, when the silence that hung over the lake and woods was invaded by other launches outbound and in. The Kenora docks were crowded with rowboats, sailboats, canoes and launches of all sorts and sizes, so that it took some steering skill on Jim's part to land them at the dock without bumping either themselves or any one else.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Isabel, whose sharp eyes were darting everywhere. "There's the Rushbrooke's lovely new launch. Isn't it beautiful!"

"Huh!" shouted Helen. "It is not half as pretty as ours."

"Oh, hush, Helen," said the scandalised Isabel. "It is lovely, isnt it, Jane? And there is Lloyd Rushbrooke. I think he's lovely, too. And who is that with him, Jane—that pretty girl? Oh, isn't she pretty?"

"That's Helen Brookes," said Jane in a low voice.

"Oh, isn't she lovely!" exclaimed Isabel.

"Lovely bunch, Isabel," said Jim with a grin.

"I don't care, they are," insisted Isabel. "And there is Mr. McPherson, Jane," she added, her sharp eyes catching sight of their Winnipeg minister through the crowd. "He's coming this way. What are the people all waiting for, Jane?"

The Reverend Andrew McPherson was a tall, slight, dark man, straight but for the student's stoop of his shoulders, and with a strikingly Highland Scotch cast of countenance, high cheek bones, keen blue eyes set deep below a wide forehead, long jaw that clamped firm lips together. He came straight to where Mr. Murray and Dr. Brown were standing.

"I have just received from a friend in Winnipeg the most terrible news," he said in a low voice. "Germany has declared war on Russia and France."

"War! War! Germany!" exclaimed the men in awed, hushed voices, a startled look upon their grave faces.

"What is it, James?" said Mrs. Murray.

Mr. Murray repeated the news to her.

"Germany at war?" she said. "I thought it was Austria and Servia. Isn't it?"

"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Murray hastily, as if anxious to cover up his wife's display of ignorance of the European situation. "Austria has been at war with Servia for some days, but now Germany has declared war apparently upon France and Russia."

"But what has Germany to do with it, or Russia either, or France?"

They moved off together from the docks toward the church, discussing the ominous news.

"Oh, look, Jane," said Isabel once more. "There's Ramsay Dunn. Isn't he looking funny?"

"Pickled, I guess," said Jim, with a glance at the young man who with puffed and sodden face was gazing with dull and stupid eyes across the lake. On catching sight of the approaching party Ramsay Dunn turned his back sharply upon them and became intensely absorbed in the launch at his side. But Jane would not have it thus.

"Ask him to come over this afternoon," she said to Ethel. "His mother would like it."

"Good morning, Ramsay," said Ethel as they passed him.

Ramsay turned sharply, stood stiff and straight, then saluted with an elaborate bow. "Good morning, Ethel. Why, good morning, Jane. You down here? Delighted to see you."

"Ramsay, could you come over this afternoon to our island?" said Ethel. "Jane is going back this week."

"Sure thing, Ethel. Nothing but scarlet fever, small-pox, or other contectious or infagious, confagious or intexious—eh, disease will prevent me. The afternoon or the evening?" he added with what he meant to be a most ingratiating smile. "The late afternoon or the early evening?"

The little girls, who had been staring at him with wide, wondering eyes, began to giggle.

"I'll be there," continued Ramsay. "I'll be there, I'll be there, when the early evening cometh, I'll be there." He bowed deeply to the young ladies and winked solemnly at Isabel, who by this time was finding it quite impossible to control her giggles.

"Isn't he awfully funny?" she said as they moved off. "I think he is awfully funny."

"Funny!" said Ethel. "Disgusting, I think."

"Oh, Ethel, isn't it terribly sad?" said Jane. "Poor Mrs. Dunn, she feels so awfully about it. They say he is going on these days in a perfectly dreadful way."

The little brick church was comfortably filled with the townsfolk and with such of the summer visitors as had not "left their religion behind them in Winnipeg," as Jane said. The preacher was a little man whose speech betrayed his birth, and the theology and delivery of whose sermon bore the unmistakable marks of his Edinburgh training. He discoursed in somewhat formal but in finished style upon the blessings of rest, with obvious application to the special circumstances of the greater part of his audience who had come to this most beautiful of all Canada's beautiful spots seeking these blessings. To further emphasise the value of their privileges, he contrasted with their lot the condition of unhappy Servia now suffering from the horrors of war and threatened with extinction by its tyrannical neighbour, Austria. The war could end only in one way. In spite of her gallant and heroic fight Servia was doomed to defeat. But a day of reckoning would surely come, for this was not the first time that Austria had exercised its superior power in an act of unrighteous tyranny over smaller states. The God of righteousness was still ruling in his world, and righteousness would be done.

At the close of the service, while they were singing the final hymn, Mr. McPherson, after a whispered colloquy with Mr. Murray, made his way to the pulpit, where he held an earnest conversation with the minister. Instead of pronouncing the benediction and dismissing the congregation when the final "Amen" had been sung, the minister invited the people to resume their seats, when Mr. McPherson rose and said,

"Friends, we have just learned that a great and terrible evil has fallen upon the world. Five days ago the world was shocked by the announcement that Austria had declared war upon Servia. Through these days the powers of Europe, or at least some of them, and chief among them Great Britain, have been labouring to localise the war and to prevent its extension. To-day the sad, the terrible announcement is made that Germany has declared war upon both Russia and France. What an hour may bring forth, we know not. But not in our day, or in our fathers' day, have we faced so great a peril as we face to-day. For we cannot forget that our Empire is held by close and vital ties to the Republic of France in the entente cordiale. Let us beseech Almighty God to grant a speedy end to war and especially to guide the King's counsellors that they may lead this Empire in the way that is wise and right and honourable."

In the brief prayer that followed there fell upon the people an overpowering sense of the futility of man's wisdom, and of the need of the might and wisdom that are not man's but God's.

Two days later Mr. Murray and the children accompanied Dr. Brown and Jane to Kenora on their way back to the city. As they were proceeding to the railway station they were arrested by a group that stood in front of the bulletin board upon which since the war began the local newspaper was wont to affix the latest despatches. The group was standing in awed silence staring at the bulletin board before them. Dr. Brown pushed his way through, read the despatch, looked around upon the faces beside him, read the words once more, came back to where his party were standing and stood silent.

"What is it?" inquired Mr. Murray.

"War," said Dr. Brown in a husky whisper. Then clearing his throat, "War—Britain and Germany."

War! For the first time in the memory of living man that word was spoken in a voice that stopped dead still the Empire in the daily routine of its life. War! That word whispered in the secret silent chamber of the man whose chief glory had been his title as Supreme War Lord of Europe, swift as the lightning's flash circled the globe, arresting multitudes of men busy with their peaceful tasks, piercing the hearts of countless women with a new and nameless terror, paralysing the activities of nations engaged in the arts of peace, transforming into bitter enemies those living in the bonds of brotherhood, and loosing upon the world the fiends of hell.

Mr. Murray turned to his boy. "Jim," he said, "I must go to Winnipeg. Take the children home and tell their mother. I shall wire you to-morrow when to meet me." Awed, solemnised and in silence they took their ways.

Arrived at the railway station, Mr. Murray changed his mind. He was a man clear in thought and swift in action. His first thought had been of his business as being immediately affected by this new and mighty fact of war. Then he thought of other and wider interests.

"Let us go back, Dr. Brown," he said. "A large number of our business men are at the Lake. I suppose half of our Board of Trade are down here. We can reach them more easily here than any place else, and it is important that we should immediately get them together. Excuse me while I wire to my architect. I must stop that block of mine."

They returned together to the launch. On their way back to their island they called to see Mr. McPherson. "You were right," was Mr. Murray's greeting to him. "It has come; Britain has declared war."

Mr. McPherson stood gazing at him in solemn silence. "War," he said at length. "We are really in."

"Yes, you were right, Mr. McPherson," said Dr. Brown. "I could not believe it; I cannot believe it yet. Why we should have gone into this particular quarrel, for the life of me I cannot understand."

"I was afraid from the very first," said McPherson, "and when once Russia and France were in I knew that Britain could not honourably escape."

As they were talking together a launch went swiftly by. "That's the Rushbrooke's launch," said Jim.

Mr. Murray rushed out upon the pier and, waving his hand, brought it to a halt and finally to the dock. "Have you heard the news?" he said to the lady who sat near the stern. "Britain has declared war."

"Oh," replied Mrs. Rushbrooke, "why on earth has she done that? It is perfectly terrible."

"Terrible, indeed," said Mr. McPherson. "But we must face it. It changes everything in life—business, society, home, everything will immediately feel the effect of this thing."

"Oh, Mr. McPherson," exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrooke, "I can hardly see how it will quite change everything for us here in Canada. For instance," she added with a gay laugh, "I do not see that it will change our bonfire tonight. By the way, I see you are not gone, Dr. Brown. You and Jane will surely come over; and, Mr. Murray, you will bring your young people and Mrs. Murray; and, Mr. McPherson, I hope you will be able to come. It is going to be a charming evening and you will see a great many of your friends. I think a bonfire on one of the islands makes a very pretty sight."

"I am not sure whether I can take the time, Mrs. Rushbrooke," said Mr. Murray. "I had thought of seeing a number of our business men who are down here at the Lake."

"Oh, can't you leave business even while you are here? You really ought to forget business during your holidays, Mr. Murray."

"I mean in relation to the war," said Mr. Murray.

"Good gracious, what can they possibly do about the war down here? But if you want to see them they will all be with us to-night. So you had better come along. But we shall have to hurry, Lloyd; I have a lot of things to do and a lot of people to feed. We have got to live, haven't we?" she added as the launch got under way.