"I don't quite understand it myself," Cosden admitted; "but as long as I want to why not make the most of it? I might change my mind."
"And we've always said you were a hard man, Cosden!" Thatcher exclaimed with gratitude in his voice.
"I was once," he admitted; "but lately I've been getting humanized, and anybody can slip anything over on me. Now you trot back to New York and cable Willie Kaiser that I disapprove of his declaring war."
"You are a friend in need!" Thatcher grasped his hand cordially. "I'll run up for a word with Marian, and then back into the vortex. Keep your eye on the cable news, Cosden. Hell is breaking loose!"
As Thatcher rushed up-stairs Cosden relit his cigar which had gone out during the excitement, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked meditatively up and down the piazza. He was immensely pleased with himself, and felt entitled to his self-approval.
"Even old Monty couldn't have done that better," he muttered. "Good old Thatcher—I hope it pulls him through!"
"What's the matter with Harry?" Edith demanded in a stage whisper, appearing from nowhere.
"He forgot his umbrella yesterday," Cosden lied, speciously, "and he's afraid it's going to rain."
"Oh, you tantalizing brute!" she cried, stamping her foot indignantly. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in the world!"