"What will you do if I just take one of them?" asked the captain.

"You won't," said the girl confidently.

"I must get a truck," he insisted. "What can you do about it if I take
one of yours?"

"England needs men," she answered. "But if you made it necessary I'd
have to shoot you. If the mules are n't fed, you and other men can't
fight. If you were fit to be a captain, you'd know that."


The young captain told the story himself and his family enjoyed it,
evidently admiring the Manchester lassie, who sat there as red as a
poppy. They did not bend to the plumber's daughter, nor seem to try to
lift her to the altars of their ancient hall.

Every one met on new ground, a ground where human beings had faced death
together. It was sign of a new fellowship, too deep and fine for even a
fish knife to sever. There was no consciousness of ancient class.
There was only to-day and to-morrow.

It was the America I love--that spirit. The best America--valuing a
human being for personal worth. Then I sailed for home. I went to
Newport, to the Atlantic coast resorts. They were all the same.

The world had changed but not my own country.

I saw more show of wealth, more extravagance, more carelessness, more
reckless morals than ever before, and--horrible to contemplate--