In completion of his remark he nodded his vast head sideways, vaguely indicating the East.
'Yes,' was the meek answer; 'that is so—a war which will begin in a one-sided way, and last longer than we quite expect; but I will go.'
'I fancy,' remarked the editor after some reflection, 'that Russia will make a very common mistake, and underrate, or perhaps despise, her adversary.'
Trist nodded his head.
'They are sure to do that,' he said; 'but I suppose they will win in the end.'
'And you will be on the losing side again.
'Yes; I shall be on the losing side again.
Both men relapsed into profound meditation. Trist's meek eyes were fixed on the soft Turkey carpet—the only suggestion of ease or luxury about the room. The editor glanced from time to time at his companion's strong face, and occupied himself with making small indentations in his blotting-pad with the point of a blacklead pencil.
'Trist,' he said at length, 'I cannot do without you in this war.'
'The war has not come yet. Many things may happen before the spring; but I will not play you false. You need never fear that.'