"We can't let this go on."
"I guess it will have to go on," I replied listlessly.
Slocum looked at me wonderingly. He had seen me crawl out of a good many small holes, and he was waiting for the word of action now.
"Well?" he asked at last.
"I am going home." I got up and took his arm. "Come along with me, old man. I want to get out of this noise."
The elevator dropped us into the hurly-burly of the street. Men were hurrying in and out of the brokers' offices, where the last reports for the day were coming in.
"D—n this war!" Slocum swore, as I paused to buy a paper.
"Don't say that, Slo!" I protested. "This war is a great thing, and every decent American ought to be proud of his country, by thunder! I am."
The lawyer looked at me as if my head had suddenly gone back on me.
"I mean it. I tell you, Slo, nations are like men. They have their work to do in this life. When it comes to an issue like this, they can't shirk any more than a man can. If they do, it will be worse for them. This war will do us good, will clean us and cure us for a good long time of this cussed, little peevish distemper we have been through since '93. That was just selfish introspection. This fight for Cuba will bring us all together. We'll work for something better than our bellies. There's nothing so good as a dose of real patriotism once in a while."