"Some find it so, and some don't," replied Peter awkwardly. "I guess it's what you might call a matter of taste."
"Like enough," said the storekeeper, scratching his chin. "It's a matter of taste—and not to Jim's taste, that's sure."
Peter felt relieved to see that Mr. Hammond seemed to understand the case. He was about to elaborate on the subject of military training when a middle-aged man wearing a bowler hat and a fur-lined overcoat turned from the counter. He had a square, clean-shaven face and very bright and active black eyes.
"Excuse me, corporal," the stranger said, "but may I horn in and inquire what you think of it yourself?"
"You can ask if you want to, Mr. Sill," said Mr. Hammond, "but you won't hear any kick out of Peter Starkley, whether he likes it or not."
"It's easier than working in the woods, either chopping or teaming," said Peter pleasantly, "and I'll bet a dollar it is a sight easier than the real fighting will be."
"That's the way to look at it, corporal," said the stranger. "I guess that in a war like this a man has to make up his mind to take the fun and the ferocity, the music and the mud, and the pie and the pain, just as they come."
"I guess so," said Peter.
The stranger shook his hand cordially and just before he turned away remarked, "Maybe you and I will meet again sooner than you expect."
"Who is he, and what's he driving at?" asked Peter, when the stranger had left the store.