“Oh, Dave!” She took both Lindsay’s hands. “I am glad to see you! How I have worried about you! My father, Dave. Father, this is David Lindsay, the young aviator I was telling you about, who had such extraordinary experiences in France. You remember the one I mean, father. He served for two years with the French Army before we declared war.”
Mr. Phillips extended a long arm which dangled a long hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir! You’re the first flier I’ve had a chance to talk with. I expect folks make life a perfect misery to you—but if you don’t mind answering questions—”
“Shoot!” Lindsay permitted serenely. “I’m nearly bursting with suppressed information. How are you, Ernestine?”
“Pretty frazzled like the rest of us,” Ernestine answered. Ernestine had one fine feature; a pair of large dark serene eyes. Now they flamed with a troubled fire. “The war did all kinds of things to my psychology, of course. I suppose I am the most despised woman in the Village at this moment because I don’t seem to be either a militarist or a pacifist. I don’t believe in war, but I don’t see how we could have kept out of it; or how France could have prevented it.”
“Ernestine!” Lindsay said warmly. “I just love you. Contrary to the generally accepted opinion of the pacifists, France did not deliberately bring this war on herself. Nor did she keep it up four years for her private amusement. She hasn’t enjoyed one minute of it. I don’t expect Gratia to believe me, but perhaps you will. These four years of death, destruction, and devastation haven’t entertained France a particle.”
“Well, of course—” Ernestine was beginning, “but what’s the use?” Her eyes met Lindsay’s in a perplexed, comprehending stare. Lindsay shook his handsome head gayly. “No use whatever,” he said. “I’m rapidly growing taciturn.”
“What I would like to ask you,” Mr. Phillips broke in, “does war seem such a pretty thing to you, young man, after you’ve seen a little of it? I remember in ’65 most of us came back thinking that Sherman hadn’t used strong enough language.”
“Mr. Phillips,” Lindsay answered, “if there’s ever another war, it will take fifteen thousand dollars to send me a postcard telling me about it.”
The talk drifted away from the war: turned to prohibition; came back to it again. Lindsay answered Mr. Phillips’s questions with enthusiastic thoroughness. They pertained mainly to his training at Pau and Avord, but Lindsay volunteered a detailed comparison of the American military method with the French. “I’ll always be glad though,” he concluded, “that I had that experience with the French Army. And of course when our troops got over, I was all ready to fly.”