TO-NIGHT! TO-NIGHT! TO-NIGHT!
WHAT IS AMERICA
TO DO
IN THE PRESENT CRISIS
The Inger read it through twice.
“What crisis?” he asked.
The restaurant keeper—a man with meeting eyebrows, who looked as if he had just sipped something acid—stopped counting change in piles, and stared at him.
“Where you from?” he asked, and saw the packs, and added “Boat, eh? Ain’t you heard about the vessel?”
The Inger shook his head.
“Well, man,” said the restaurant keeper with enjoyment, “another nice big U. S. merchantman is blowed into flinders a couple o’ days ago, a-sailin’ neutral seas. Nobody much killed, I guess—but leave ’em wait and see what we give ’em!”
“Does it mean war?” asked the Inger, eagerly.
“That’s for the meetin’ to say,” said the man, and winked, and, still winking, reached for somebody’s pink check.