“Good-night,” responded Stewart, and watched the upright figure until it disappeared.

Then, lighting a fresh cigar, he gazed out at the great cathedral, nebulous and dream-like in the [Pg 17]darkness, and tried to picture to himself what such a war would mean as Bloem had spoken of. With men by the million dragged into the vast armies, who would harvest Europe’s grain, who would work in her factories, who would conduct her business? Above all, who would feed the women and children?

[Pg 17]

And where would the money come from—the millions needed daily to keep such armies in the field? Where could it come from, save from the sweat of inoffensive people, who must be starved and robbed and ground into the earth until the last penny was wrung from them? Along the line of battle, thousands would meet swift death, and thousands more would struggle back to life through the torments of hell, to find themselves maimed and useless. But how trivial their sufferings beside the slow, hopeless, year-long martyrdom of the countless thousands who would never see a battle, who would know little of the war—who would know only that never thereafter was there food enough, warmth enough——

Stewart started from his reverie to find the waiter putting out the lights. Shivering as with a sudden chill, he hastily sought his room.

[Pg 18]

[Pg 18]

CHAPTER II THE FIRST RUMBLINGS

THE FIRST RUMBLINGS

As Stewart ate his breakfast next morning, he smiled at his absurd fears of the night before. In the clear light of day, Bloem’s talk of war seemed mere foolishness. War! Nonsense! Europe would never be guilty of such folly—a deliberate plunge to ruin.

As

Besides, there were no evidences of war; the life of the city was moving in its accustomed round, so far as Stewart could see; and there was vast reassurance in the quiet and orderly service of the breakfast-room. No doubt the Powers had bethought themselves, had interfered, had stopped the war between Austria and Servia, had ceased 

 Prev. P 11/186 next