“Well, what do you think of the war?” he asked chattily.
“Be quiet, Blink,” said Mr. Lavender. Then, in a far-away voice, he added: “Whatever the clouds which have gathered above our heads for the moment, and whatever the blows which Fate may have in store for us, we shall not relax our efforts till we have attained our aims and hurled our enemies back. Nor shall we stop there,” he went on, warming at his own words. “It is but a weak-kneed patriotism which would be content with securing the objects for which we began to fight. We shall not hesitate to sacrifice the last of our men, the last of our money, in the sacred task of achieving the complete ruin of the fiendish Power which has brought this great calamity on the world. Even if our enemies surrender we will fight on till we have dictated terms on the doorsteps of Potsdam.”
The doctor, who, since Mr. Lavender began to speak, had been looking at him with strange intensity, dropped his eyes.
“Quite so,” he said heartily, “quite so. Well, good-morning. I only just ran in!” And leaving Mr. Lavender to the exultation he was evidently feeling, this singular visitor went out and closed the door. Outside the garden-gate he rejoined the nephew Sinkin.
“Well?” asked the latter.
“Sane as you or me,” said the doctor. “A little pedantic in his way of expressing himself, but quite all there, really.”
“Did his dog bite you?” muttered the nephew. “No,” said the doctor absently. “I wish to heaven everyone held his views. So long. I must be getting on.” And they parted.
But Mr. Lavender, after pacing the room six times, had sat down again in his chair, with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, such as other men feel on mornings after a debauch.