“Don’t be a fool.”
Potter turned and walked out of the room. He stopped at the information-desk. Here sat a man who worked for wages, a common citizen. Here sat the sort of man who made up the bulk of that crowd he had watched on Woodward Avenue.
“Dickson,” he said, “the Germans have sunk the Lusitania and killed a hundred Americans.”
“Awful, wasn’t it? I just heard.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Why—we’ll make ’em pay for it, that’s what. We’ll collect damages, millions of dollars.”
“Money?” said Potter.
“You bet, Mr. Waite. Money.”
“Is that all? Will that satisfy you?”
“Isn’t that enough?” asked Dickson, in real surprise. “What more can anybody ask?”