"Thanks so much!" murmured Pringle. "And that Sir Hubert Stanley thing."
"One more point, John: You don't know Foy. I do. Foy'll never give up. He's desperate—and he's not pleased. There's no question of surrender and standing trial; understand that. He'd be lynched, probably, if they ever got him in Las Uvas. A trial, even, would be just lynching under another name. They don't want to capture him anyway—they want a chance to kill him."
"I wouldn't want the job," said Pringle.
"Hush!" said Stella. "I hear them coming. Talk about something else—the war in Europe."
The Major picked up a paper.
"What do you think about the United States building a big navy, John?" he asked casually.
Stealthy footsteps rustled without.
"Fine!" said Pringle. "I'm strong for it. We want dreadnoughts, and lots of 'em—biggest we can build. But that ain't all. When we make the navy appropriations we ought to set by about fifty-some-odd million and build a big multiple-track railroad, so we can carry our navy inland in case of war. The ocean is no place for a battleship these days."
"Stop your kidding!"
"I'm not kidding," said John Wesley indignantly. "I never was twice as serious in my whole life. My plan is sound, statesman-like—"