anyone take a second glance at Peter Gudge? Why should anyone care
about the restless soul hidden inside him, or dream that Peter was,
in his own obscure way, a sort of genius? No one did care; no one
did dream.

It was about two o'clock of an afternoon in July, and the sun beat
down upon the streets of American City. There were crowds upon the
streets, and Peter noticed that everywhere were flags and bunting.
Once or twice he heard the strains of distant music, and wondered
what was "up." Peter had not been reading the newspapers; all his
attention bad been taken up by the quarrels of the Smithers faction
and the Lunk faction in the First Apostolic Church, otherwise known
as the Holy Rollers, and great events that had been happening in the
world outside were of no concern to him. Peter knew vaguely that on
the other side of the world half a dozen mighty nations were locked
together in a grip of death; the whole earth was shaken with their
struggles, and Peter had felt a bit of the trembling now and then.
But Peter did not know that his own country had anything to do with
this European quarrel, and did not know that certain great interests
thruout the country had set themselves to rouse the public to
action.

This movement had reached American City, and the streets had broken
out in a blaze of patriotic display. In all the windows of the
stores there were signs: "Wake up, America!" Across the broad Main
Street there were banners: "America Prepare!" Down in the square at
one end of the street a small army was gathering--old veterans of
the Civil War, and middle-aged veterans of the Spanish War, and
regiments of the state militia, and brigades of marines and sailors
from the ships in the harbor, and members of fraternal lodges with