“Yes.”
“So—and you still come back with those ideas?” said Brinsmade’s bass voice, studiously polite but with a note of criticism.
“Does that mean you’d have us in the war?” said the other, in a tone which showed that he recognized the criticism and resented it. “To pull the chestnuts out of the fire for France and England?”
“Over on business?”
“No, I don’t desire peace to keep on making money,” answered the other, with a suavity which suggested a smile. “I am a journalist. Suppose I’d better warn you—a socialist; worse, still—the editor of The Protest.”
“The Protest? Yes, I read it,” said the other. “Then you are Peter Magnus?”
“Now you know the worst.”
“Glad to know you. Well, I’m rather on the other side. Stephen B. Brinsmade,—one of the unconvicted rich, I suppose you’d call us.”
“Really? And you read The Protest?” said Magnus in surprise. “May I ask why?”
“Why I read it? Certainly; to know what the other side thinks.” He laughed, and continued with the good humor men of politics use as a cloak but which in his case was the complacency of success. “Honestly, I’m glad to meet you, Magnus, and I look forward to talking things over with you. That’s rather odd, for I suppose we’ll get to hating each other cordially. However, I’ll promise to keep my temper.”