“Do you still think we may have war?” asked Richling again.
“I know we shall.”
“And will the soldiers come back,” asked the young man, smilingly, “when they find their lives in danger?”
“Now, Richling, that’s another thing entirely; that’s the battle-field.”
“Isn’t it all the same thing, Doctor? Isn’t it all a battle-field?”
The Doctor turned impatiently, disdaining to reply. But in a moment he retorted:—
“We take wounded men off the field.”
“They don’t take themselves off,” said Richling, smiling.
“Well,” rejoined the Doctor, rising and striding toward a window, “a good general may order a retreat.”
“Yes, but—maybe I oughtn’t to say what I was thinking”—