"Years? What are they when old friends foregather," exclaimed Hartzmann.
"Let us sit and talk."
"Wait, wait," remonstrated von Fincke. "Heinrich," turning to the chauffeur, who stood respectfully waiting, "did you learn the strength of the fleet?"
"Of the thirty-five United States battleships, only twenty-one are in commission and ready for emergency," he said. "Of these twenty-one three have broken shafts, and the fourth is a turbine engine battleship, which needs overhauling."
"Is this all the fighting strength of the United States navy?" questioned
Hartzmann, jotting down the figures in a notebook.
"No, Herr Captain; there are seventy fighting craft; but not in commission and all require overhauling. Half of the submarines will not—er—'sub,' so to speak." A ghost of a smile crossed Heinrich's lips. "The complement of torpedo vessels has been reduced from fifteen to twenty-five per cent, and the Atlantic Fleet needs five thousand men."
"Interesting data," said von Mueller. "I congratulate you, Heinrich. What of the army?"
"Nothing definite to report today, Herr Captain. If rumor speaks truly, discontent will shortly reduce the standing army to a man and a mule."
"A mule can fight on occasions," laughed von Mueller.
"But not against trained men, backed up by field guns firing in one hour two hundred thousand shells carrying high explosives," boasted Hartzmann triumphantly. "Weapons such as these, von Mueller, alter the face of nature as well as the fate of nations."
"Any further news tonight, Heinrich?" asked von Fincke.