Culver was an older man. Carter could have punched him for his response in a level voice: “Yes. But ’tis going to make us sit up and take notice, too.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Carter with a trace of aggressiveness.
“I mean that our resources are going to be tested to the limit before we’re through with this.”
“You wait until the Huns see Uncle Sam with his sleeves rolled up. Wouldn’t surprise me any if they quit.”
Carter shifted his seat to a place near Barclay and Newell, who were leading a group in three cheers for the President. And on his way downtown that day he stopped to buy a flag and pole to be sent to the house. Before he reached his office these flags of red and white and blue had begun to appear in numbers on the tops of buildings and from windows, brightening the dull gray backgrounds as with flowers. It made him want to cheer. It made him walk more erect. The whole downtown atmosphere became vibrant. The declaration of war was the sole topic of conversation in the office, and one of the first things he did was to ring up Kitty and tell her about it.
“Well, old girl, we’ve done it!” he exclaimed.
“Done what?” she asked anxiously.
“Declared war,” he announced, as though in some way he had been personally concerned in the act. “Guess that will make the Huns rub their eyes.”
“You bet! Fritzie waited a little too long with his apologies that last time.”