“What!” said McCuaig. “Bigger than Britain?”
“Britain has two or three hundred thousand men in her army; Germany has seven millions or more, with seventy millions of people behind them, organised for war. Of course, Britain has her navy, but then Germany has the next biggest in the world. Oh, it's going to be a terrific war.”
“I say,” said McCuaig, putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. “You don't think it will bother us any to lick her?”
“It will be the most terrible of all Britain's wars,” replied Barry. “It will take every ounce of Britain's strength.”
“You don't tell me!” exclaimed McCuaig, as if struck by an entirely new idea. “Say, are you really anxious, young man?”
“I am terribly anxious,” replied Barry. “I know Germany a little. I spent a year there. She is a mighty nation, and she is ready for war.”
“She is, eh!” replied McCuaig thoughtfully. He wandered off to the fire without further word, where, rolling himself in his blanket and scorning the place in the tent offered him by Duff, he made himself comfortable for the night.
At the break of day Duff was awakened by the smell of something frying. Over the fire bent McCuaig, busy preparing a breakfast of tea, bacon and bannocks, together with thick slices of fat pork.
Breakfast was eaten in haste. The day's work was before them, and there was no time for talk. In a very few minutes they stood ready for their trip across the portage.
With them stood McCuaig. His blanket roll containing his grub, with frying-pan and tea-pail attached, lay at his feet; his rifle beside it.