The other shook a slow head.
"I don't look at it like that," he replied. "I go to them for help."
The Colonel made a little moue.
"D'you get it?" he asked
"I do," Mr. Caspar replied with startling conviction.
The Colonel moved sorrowfully upon his way. He was becoming a man of one idea—Germany....
A few nights later, after supper, he strolled up Beau-nez under a harvest-moon spreading silvery wings moth-like over earth and sea. He was full of his own thoughts, and and for once heavy, almost down-hearted, as he took up his familiar post of vigil beside the flagstaff on the Head and looked out over the shining waters. The Liberals were moving at last, it seemed. The great cry for Dreadnoughts, more Dreadnoughts,
We want eight!
We won't wait!
had gone up to the ears of Government from millions of middle-class homes; but the Working Man still slept.
Would nothing rouse him to the Terror that stalked by night across those quiet waters? ... The Working Man, who would have to bear the brunt of it when the trouble came.... The Working Man...?