Allen brought George his one relief from the deadly monotony of the base hospital. He had sent for him because he wanted his opinion as to the possibility of an armistice. Blodgett, however, hadn't waited for the result of the conference. The day Allen arrived a letter came from him, telling George not to worry.
"King Ferdy along about the last of September whispered I'd better begin to unload. It's a killing, George."
With his mind clear of that George could be amused by Allen. The friend of the people wore some striking clothes from London tailors and haberdashers. He carried a cunning little cane. He had managed something extremely neat in moustaches. He spoke with a perceptible West End accent. But in reply to George's sneering humour he made this astonishing remark:
"It isn't nearly as much fun being a top-hole person as I thought it was going to be."
"You're lucky to have found it out," George said, "for your job's about over. Of course I could get you something in Wall Street."
"Doubt if I should want it," Allen said. "I've always got my old job."
George whistled.
"You mean you'd go back to long hair, cheap clothes, and violent words?"
"Why not? I only took your offer, Morton, because I was inclined to agree with you that in the outside world's anxiety to look at what was going on over the fence people'd stop thinking. Russia didn't stop thinking, and after the armistice you watch America begin to use its brain."
"You mean the downtrodden," George sneered.