Burned Bridges

Thompson assented. He had time and it was on his way. He reacted

willingly to the suggestion. He needed something to revive his spirit,

but he had not thought of the stimulus of John Barleycorn until Carr

spoke.

In the Strand bar he poured himself half a glass of Scotch whisky. Carr

regarded him meditatively over port wine.

"That's the first time I ever saw you touch the hard stuff," he

observed.

"It will probably be the last," Thompson replied.

"Why?"

"I'm off," Thompson explained. "I have sold out my business and have

been accepted for the Royal Flying Corps. I'm taking the train at six to

report at Eastern headquarters."

Carr fingered the stem of his empty glass a second. "I hate to see you

go, and still I'm glad you're going," he said with an odd, wistful note

in his voice. "I'd go too, Thompson, if I weren't too old to be any use

over there."

"Eh?" Thompson looked at him keenly. "Have you been revising your

philosophy of life?"

"No. Merely bringing it up to date," Carr replied soberly. "We have what

we have in the way of government, economic practice, principles of

justice, morality--so forth and so on. I'm opposed to a lot of it. Too

much that's obsolete. A lot that's downright bad. But bad as it is in

spots, it is not a circumstance to what we should have to endure if the

Germans win this war. I believe in my people and my country. I don't

believe in the German system of dominating by sheer force and planned

terror. The militarists and the market hunters have brought us to this.

But we have to destroy the bogey they have raised before we can deal

with them. And a man can't escape nationalism. It's bred in us. What the

tribe thinks, the individual thinks. This thing is in the air. We are

getting unanimous. Whether or not we approve the cause, we are too proud

to consider getting whipped in a war that was forced on us. One way and

another, no matter what we privately think of our politicians and

industrial barons and our institutions generally, it is becoming

unthinkable to the Anglo-Saxon that the German shall stalk rough-shod

over us. We are beginning--we common people--to hate him and his works.

Look at you and me. We were aloof at first. We are intelligent. We have

learned to saddle feeling with logic. We have not been stampeded by

military bands and oratory. Yet there is something in the air. I wish I

could fight. You are going to fight. Not because you like fighting, but

because you see something to fight for. And before long those who cannot

see will be very few. Isn't that about right?"

"I think so," Thompson replied.