And as the car presently dashed on again, Donald remarked to Herbert, so that their passengers could not hear:
“Don’t you think, old man, it is very true when they say that patriotism over in the dear old United States has had a remarkable awakening?”
“Yes, you can call it that, perhaps, if we were ever really asleep. You refer, I know, to these nurses, evidently ladies of refinement and culture, coming over here for duties that they must know can’t be any cinch. The women, if anything, have led the men at home in their zeal for helping toward making our part in this scrap a good one.”
“Very good and all honor to the women,” Don said, “but I guess, from what you and I have both seen and will soon see again, that which is making America’s part in this war a good one is mostly the scrapping ability of the lads with blood in their eyes. The humane part of it comes afterward.”
“And a little before at times also,” asserted the lieutenant. “There is the morale to keep up—the general good fellowship and well-being. If the boys know they’re going to be treated right if they get winged, then they’re heartened up a whole lot; you know that.”
“I do,” Don eagerly admitted. “Don’t think I’m throwing any rocks at the splendid efficiency of the Red Cross; if anyone knows about them I ought to, from every angle of the service. But I have also seen the kind of work that threw a scare into the Huns, and believe me that was not a humane, not a nursing proposition, as you know.”
“Yes, I know that, too. And it may be funny, but I’ve had a sort of homesick feeling to get back and see more of it, and the nearer I get the more impatient I am.”
“Same here. But this boat is doing her darndest for a long run and we can hardly improve the time even if you get out and walk.”
“From watching your speedometer register something over thirty miles in less than sixty minutes I am convinced that only a motorcycle or an airplane would help us better to get on.”