“But,” said Potter, to egg his father on, “it’s war. Your trucks were going to fight against Germany. Hadn’t she a right to destroy them?”
“Yes, openly, with cannon, or in a belligerent country. We are not belligerent. We’re serving all the world alike. If they have the idea America will stand for this sort of thing—”
“It makes a lot of difference, father,” said Potter, a trifle impertinently, “whose dog gets kicked.”
“Eh?”
“This thing has been going on for a year or more—but it never touched the Waite Motor Company before.”
“Um!” said Fabius, eying his son and taking up his paper. From time to time during the evening he would lower his paper enough to peer over it at Potter for a moment, and at such times it seemed as if he were about to offer some remark.
From that hour Potter was able to trace a gradual alteration in his father’s attitude toward Germany and toward the war—but most of all toward the United States.
During these months Potter worked not only on the designs for his aeroplane engine, but upon collecting and preserving information of general importance to the manufacturing of complete aeroplanes in enormous quantities. With all the facilities open to a private citizen he made his inquiries. Twenty millions of feet of the finest spruce must be obtained in order that four millions of feet of perfect spruce might be selected and sawed from it for the frames of the aeroplanes. This alone was a gigantic task. He studied the matter of obtaining linen for the wings, millions of yards of it—and the best linen comes from Ireland. It was a commodity of which England could spare little. Perhaps there would appear a substitute. Potter searched for it. Then there was the matter of metal for the engine, and the staggering problem of manufacturing a score of thousands of such engines as Potter knew would be required for fighting-aeroplanes—engines light in weight, perfect in efficiency, capable of developing two hundred, perhaps two hundred and fifty, horse-power. As best he could he attacked these problems, and stood amazed and terrified by the monstrousness of them. It gave him that quivering, frightened sensation one gets from thinking on infinity.
At this time the country was learning an unrelished lesson from the mobilization of our militia for the Mexican border, from the performances of our brace of aeroplanes, and from the apparent doubtful efficiency of our machine-guns. Roosevelt was coming into his own and deserving much of his countrymen by his campaign for preparedness. War was in the air, but war with a country far different from iron Germany. It was a step, unperceived by most, but doubtless clearly perceived by the man in the White House, toward a day of greater preparations. Public prints were demanding that we take half a million men and sweep through Mexico, janitor-like, to effect a cleansing. The Carrizal incident lit a dangerous flame. The arrival of Germany’s undersea merchant-vessel, the Deutschland, caused a wave of admiration for Germany’s persistency and inventiveness to sweep across the country. It was a victory of a sort calculated to arouse honest admiration. The second year of the war had closed with hope, for Verdun was beyond peradventure a gigantic victory for France, and the Somme offense had offered proofs of the possibility of shoving the entrenched German hosts toward their own frontier.... Italy had heightened the hopes at Gorizia, and Rumania had enlisted with the Allies.... November saw the ending of the Presidential campaign with the re-election of Mr. Wilson.
Even before this, Fabius Waite had traveled far. He was able in October, with the appearance of the German submarine U-53 off our coasts, and its entrance into the harbor of Newport.