“In a day or so.” Patterson turned and regarded Barclay attentively from head to foot, and suddenly he smiled, a smile of such satisfaction that Barclay, his fingers clenched about his program, had difficulty in controlling his rising anger.
“Is it to be war with Japan?” asked Ogden, smiling ironically. “Sorry, Patterson, I don’t scare worth a cent.”
“I cannot see, Patterson,” Norcross joined in the conversation, “that we have so very much to fear in a war with Japan. I think that you overrate their fighting qualities, and undervalue ours.”
“Not a bit of it,” responded Patterson. “Didn’t that little empire whip the backbone out of Russia almost in no time? And we are just as unwieldy and unready as Russia was in those days.”
“Ah, but was their victory entirely the Japs’ doing?” asked Norcross. “It is believed in China and I have heard it whispered in this country that the crack marksmen of gun crews were enticed away from American battleships and cruisers in the Pacific by Japanese wiles to serve on Japanese battleships. And these American gunners in a large measure were responsible for Japan’s naval success over Russia.”
“Oh, tush!” ejaculated Ogden unbelievingly.
“I’ve heard that tale before,” admitted Patterson, paying scant attention to Ogden. “And I believe it. The Japanese use us at every turn, and when the moment comes, will knife us in the back.”
Ethel had been an interested listener. She had always looked on Patterson’s fervid tirades against the Japanese as a distinct bore, but suddenly she saw her way to eliciting information without appearing to do so, and promptly took a hand in the conversation.
“Didn’t you tell me of a Japanese knifing an American on the train with you, Mr. Barclay?” she asked.
It was the first time she had addressed him that evening, and Barclay bent forward so as not to lose a note of her voice.