The host did not speak again until near the end of the meal. He was deeply pre-occupied.
“What is this plan of yours?” he suddenly asked, breaking in on Mr. Belding’s windy eulogy of the feast prepared by three of the “best cooks in the universe.”
Young Oliver started. “Hadn’t we better leave that till we’re alone—”
“No; let’s have it now,” said old Oliver testily. “Unless it’s something you’re ashamed of,” he amended, bending his gaze upon his son.
“I certainly am not ashamed of it.” A trace of irony, unintentional to be sure, crept into his voice. “I suppose you know there is a war going on?” His eyes swept the circle of listeners.
“Well, it’s kind of leaked out down our way,” spoke Mr. Link dryly.
“Damn the Kaiser,” said Mr. Belding, with feeling.
“Thank God, they turned him back at the Marne,” said Mr. Sage, speaking for the first time in many minutes.
“I know what you are planning to do, Oliver,” cried Jane, paling.
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “You would know. You’re young enough to know, Jane.”