late," and the Journalist drew a graphic, and purely imaginary,
picture of the pathos of the Belgians straining their eyes in vain to
the West for the coming of the men in khaki, and unfortunately he let
himself expatiate a bit on German methods.

The spark touched the Doctor off.

"By Jove," he said, "all you sentimentalists read the History of the
World with your intellects in your breeches pockets. War is not a game
for babies. It is war--it is not sport. You chaps think war can be
prevented. All I ask you is--why hasn't it been prevented? In every
generation that we know anything about there have been some pretty
fine men who have been of your opinion--Erasmus for one, and how many
others? But since the generations have contented themselves with
talking, and not talked war out of the problem, why, I can't see, for
my part, that Germany's way is not as good as any. She is in to win,
and so are all the rest of them. Schools of War are like the Schools
of Art you chaps talk so much about--it does not make much difference
what school one belongs to--the only important thing is making good."

"One would think," said the Journalist, "that you _liked_ such a war."

"Well, I don't even know that I can deny that. I would not
deliberately _choose_ it. But I am willing to accept it, and I am not
a bit sentimental about it. I am not even sure that it was not needed.
The world has let the Kaiser sit twenty-five years on a throne
announcing himself as 'God's anointed.' His pretensions have been
treated seriously by all the democracies of the world. What for?
Purely for personal gain. We have come to a pass where there is little
a man won't do--for personal gain. The business of the world, and its