"Quite as much as for any other ass."
"Why don't you say what you mean?" George asked, irritably.
"Perhaps you ask that," Wandel drawled, "because you don't understand what I mean to say."
"I won't take care of your apartment," George snapped. "I won't have any hand in such a piece of foolishness."
With Goodhue, however, he went to the pier to see Wandel off; absorbed with the little man the sorrowful and apprehensive atmosphere of the odorous shed; listened to choked farewells; saw brimming eyes; shared the pallid anticipations of those about to venture forth upon an unnatural sea; touched at last the very fringe of war.
"Why is he doing it?" George asked as Goodhue and he drove across town to the subway. "I've never counted Driggs a sentimentalist."
"I'm not sure," Goodhue answered, "this doesn't prove he isn't. He's always had an acute appreciation of values. Don't you remember? We used to call him 'Spike'."
George let himself drift with events, but Wandel's departure increased his uneasiness. Suppose he should be forced by circumstances to abandon everything; against his better judgment to go? Automatically his thoughts turned to Squibs. He recalled his advice.
"Don't let your ideas smoulder in your head. Come home and talk them over."