If I'm a bum I became one then. You will
see fast enough what fellows are in the army if the country is ever
caught and drawn into a great war."
Becoming excited the socialist raised his voice and pounded on the
bar. "Hell, we don't know ourselves at all," he cried. "We never have
been tested. We call ourselves a great nation because we are rich. We
are like a fat boy who has had too much pie. Yes sir--that's what we
are here in America and as far as our army goes it is a fat boy's
plaything. Keep away from it."
McGregor sat in the corner of the saloon and looked about. Men came in
and went out at the door. A child carried a pail down the short flight
of steps from the street and ran across the sawdust floor. Her voice,
thin and sharp, pierced through the babble of men's voices. "Ten
cents' worth--give me plenty," she pleaded, raising the pail above her
head and putting it on the bar.
The confident smiling face of Finley the lawyer came back into
McGregor's mind. Like David Ormsby the successful maker of ploughs the
lawyer looked upon men as pawns in a great game and like the
ploughmaker his intentions were honourable and his purpose clear. He
was intent upon making much of his life, being successful. If he
played the game on the side of the criminal that was but a chance.
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