"
"Then listen," said Dunbar, bending forward over a table, much as
it was his habit to bend over Clayton's desk. "We're in it at last.
Or as good as in it. Unrestricted submarine warfare! All
merchant-ships bound to and from Allied ports to be sunk without
warning! We're to be allowed - mark this, it's funny! - we're to
be allowed to send one ship a week to England, nicely marked and
carrying passengers only."
There was a little pause. Clayton drew a long breath.
"That means war," he said finally.
"Hell turned over and stirred up with a pitch-fork, if we have any
backbone at all," agreed Dunbar. He turned to Graham. "You young
fellows'll be crazy about this."
"You bet we will," said Graham.
Clayton slipped an arm about the boy's shoulders. He could not
speak for a moment. All at once he saw what the news meant. He
saw Graham going into the horror across the sea. He saw vast
lines of marching men, boys like Graham, boys who had frolicked
through their careless days, whistled and played and slept sound
of nights, now laden like pack-animals and carrying the implements
of death in their hands, going forward to something too terrible
to contemplate.
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