"What kind of a war?" I asked.
"Why, a war for the right to grow and to flourish, a war for trade. At other times, mark you, nations clash over questions of honor or territory. So their statesmen say. Actually there is a question of trade or merchantry at the bottom of every war that has been fought since the world began.
"The Romans crushed the Carthaginians—because they wanted another corner of Africa? Never! Because only by so doing could they make the Mediterranean a Roman lake and insure its control by their shipping.
"And so today we are fighting with France for control of the trade of the Atlantic—and control of the Atlantic trade means control of the Western Plantations, America. We are fighting, Master Harry, with laws and tariffs and manufacturing skill and shipping instead of with men and deadly weapons."
"What is the immediate stake for which we fight?" I questioned, interested as always when this extraordinary man unloosed himself in conversation.
"The fur-trade. The country which wins the fur-trade will win control over the greatest number of savages. And the country which is so placed, especially if it be England, will win the military struggle which some day will have to be fought for dominion in America. So I would have you feel yourself a soldier, a general of trade, sent out upon a venture of great danger and importance. It may be, Master Harry, that you carry on your shoulders the future of England and of nations yet unborn."
He fired me so that I forgot my clumsy garments and outward character. I felt, I think, as any young knight who rides forth upon a deed of errantry and adventure.
"All that I can, I will do!" I exclaimed.
"Good. I can not ask more."
He clasped my hand in a wringing grip.