“Certainly it is n’t. No flags. No ta-rum-ta-ra. No khaki, brave soldier-boy, hero-stuff. Eh?”
“I notice you went, fast enough. And you’re going again, are n’t you?”
“Different matter. I don’t own a trouble-making newspaper. What are you going to do with it?”
“The Guardian? Sell it.”
“To whom?”
“A. M. Wymett.”
“He’s a figurehead. What’s behind him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nor want to, I guess.”
“I don’t care.”