The editor smiled understandingly, and again they relapsed into meditation; their hearts beating happily, the Colonel's stout boot tapping contentedly upon the oaken floor.
"Amos," he shouted, springing at last to his feet, "there's no damned German army ever recruited can stand before our boys when we get good and mad!"
Mr. Strong arose and closed his roll-top desk with a bang. Laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, he said:
"You're damn right! Now get your overcoat——"
"Pouf! I don't need any overcoat!" the Colonel cried disdainfully, feeling himself warmed by the old spirit of 1861, which had been fanned into a comforting glow by the new spirit of 1917.
"Yes, you do, Roger, for I heard you coughing only yesterday!—and you remember what I promised Marian!"
"I will, if you put on your muffler, Amos!"
"Oh, very well. But what I started to say is, that—while I don't make a practice of it—I think we're entitled to go to the hotel for a small—er-a! Then we'll walk out Main street, and take this good news to the little aunts!"
"And some flowers, Amos! Tulips, if we can find any—a big bunch of 'em!"