"I had to come down for the special service for the Archduke Franz Ferdinand," said Reggie, excitedly. "They gave us a regular wake, champagne by the gallon! Several of the corps diplomatique became inspired! They saw visions and made prophesyings. Von Falkenturm, the German military attache, was shouting out, 'We've got to fight. We're going to fight! We don't care who we fight! Russia, France, England: yes, the whole lot of them!' The man was drunk, of course; but, after, all, in vino veritas. The rest of the square-heads were getting very rattled, and at last they succeeded in suppressing Falkenturm. But, I tell you, Geoffrey, it's coming at last; it's really coming!"
"What's coming?"
"Why, the Great War. Thank God, it's coming!"
"Why thank God?"
"Because we've all become too artificial and beastly. We want exterminating, and to start afresh. We shall escape at last from women and drawing-rooms and silly gossip. We shall become men. It will give us all something to do and something to think about."
"Yes," echoed Geoffrey, "I wish I could get something to do."
"You'll get it all right. I wish I were a soldier. Are you going to stop in Japan much longer?"
"No—going next week—going home."
"Look here, I'll put in my resignation right away, and I'll come along with you."
"No, thanks," said Geoffrey, "rather not."