“You know my opinion of war, Julian,” he said. “It’s a filthy, intolerable heritage from generations of autocratic government. No democracy ever wanted war. Every democracy needs and desires peace.”
“One moment,” Julian interrupted. “You must remember that a democracy seldom possesses the imperialistic spirit, and a great empire can scarcely survive without it.”
“Arrant nonsense!” was the vigorous reply. “A great empire, from hemisphere to hemisphere, can be kept together a good deal better by democratic control. Force is always the arriere pensee of the individual and the autocrat.”
“These are generalities,” Julian declared. “I want to know your opinion about a peace at the present moment.”
“Not having any, thanks. You’re a dilettante journalist by your own confession, Julian, and I am not going to be drawn.”
“There is something in it, then?”
“Maybe,” was the careless admission. “You’re a visitor worth having, Julian. ‘70 port and homegrown walnuts! A nice little addition to my simple fare! Must you go back to-morrow?”
Julian nodded.
“We’ve another batch of visitors coming,—Stenson amongst them, by the bye.”
Furley nodded. His eyes narrowed, and little lines appeared at their corners.