to the _Lusitania_ than by the idea of war; and she seemed to feel as
broken up as anybody could be about the _Lusitania_, but what got her
the worst was the notion of her country wantin' to fight, she said. She
really was upset, too, Fred; there wasn't any puttin' on about it. I
guess that ole girl certainly must have a good deal of feeling, because,
doggoned, after we'd been sittin' there a while if she didn't have to
get out her handkerchief! She kept her face turned away from me--just
the same as you're doin' now to keep from laughin'--but honestly, she
cried like somebody at a funeral. I felt like the darndest fool!"

"I'm not laughing," said Fred, but he did not prove it by turning so
that his face could be seen. "What did she say?"

"Oh, she didn't say such an awful lot. She said one kind o' funny thing
though: she said she was sorry she couldn't quite control herself, but
if anybody had to see her cry she minded it less because it was an old
schoolmate. What struck me so kind o' funny about that is--why, it looks
as if she never knew the way I always hated her so."

"Yes," said Fred. "It wasn't flattering!"

"Well, sir, it _isn't_, kind of," Ramsey agreed, musingly. "It certainly
isn't when you look at it that way."

"What did you say when she said that?" Fred asked.

"Nothin'. I started to, but I sort of balked again. Well, we kept on
sitting there, and afterwhile she began to talk again and got kind of
excited about how no war could do anything or anybody any good, and all
war was wicked, no matter what it was about, and nothin' could be good