“Or the other way about, old man?” Northrup broke in and laughed.
“No, sir; you’re on the main line, all right; but you don’t look as if you knew where you were going. Keep the headlight on, Brace.”
“Thanks, Manly; I do not fully understand just where I may land, but I’m going slow. Now this––this horror across seas–––” Always it was creeping in, these days.
“Oh! that’s their business, Northrup. They’re always scrapping––this isn’t our war, old man,” Manly broke in roughly, but Northrup shook his head.
“Manly, I cannot look at it as a war––just a plain war, you know. I’ve had a queer experience that I will tell you about some day, but it convinced me that above all, and through all, there is a Power that forces us, often against our best-laid plans, and I believe that Power can force the world as well. Manly, take it from me, this is no scrap over there, it’s a soul-finder; a soul-creator, more like. Before we get through, a good many nations and men will be compelled to look, as you once did, at bare, gaunt souls or”––a pause––“set to work and make souls.”
Manly twisted in his seat uneasily. Northrup went on.
“Manly”––he spoke quietly, evenly––“do you remember our last talk in this office before I left?”
“Well, some of it. Yes.”
“Jogs, you know. Mountain peaks, baby hands, women faces, and souls?”