“We are in it, Graham.”
“Just because I don't leap into the first recruiting office and beg them to take me—what right have you got to call me a slacker?”
“But I heard—”
“Go on!”
“It doesn't matter what I heard, if you are going.”
“Of course I'm going,” he said, truculently.
He meant it, too. He would get Anna settled somewhere—she had begun to mend—and then he would have it out with Marion and his mother. But there was no hurry. The war would last a long time. And so it was that Graham Spencer joined the long line of those others who had bought a piece of ground, or five yoke of oxen, or had married a wife.
It was the morning after the pageant that Clayton, going down-town with him in the car, voiced his expectation that the government would take over their foreign contracts, and his feeling that, in that case, it would be a mistake to profit by the nation's necessities.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean we should take only a small profit. A banker's profit.”