“And I’m not going to. Not on this issue.” Martin Embree drew a long, slow, luxurious breath. “Thank God for that! At least they can’t identify us with the war-howlers in the East.” Jeremy passed the “us.” “What’s your view of the Lusitania sinking, Martin?” “It’s damnable. But it’s war.” “German war. They’re holding jollifications over it here. There’s to be one to-night at the Deutscher Club.” “Not a formal thing?” cried the Governor. “Bausch and Henry Vogt, the florist, are engineering it, I understand. It is n’t exactly a club affair.” “Ah! That’s not so bad. You’re not going to print anything about it?” “I’d print their remarks about The Guardian if I could get ’em,” grinned Jeremy. “They’d be spicy. But of course they won’t admit reporters.” “What goes on at a private dinner is nobody’s business,” said the relieved official. “So you don’t need to stir up any more trouble for yourself on that score. Some of the smaller German organizations have been passing resolutions about The Guardian. That will cut into your circulation, won’t it?” “To some extent. But we’re holding up.” “Just keep your head, Jem, and we’ll be all right,” advised the Governor anxiously. “Don’t forget that we’ve got measures to put through here at home more important than a war four thousand miles away. Harvey Rappelje, of the Economics Department of the University, is working on the Corporation Control Bill now. I’m going to have him talk it over with you when it’s ready.” “Glad to see him. Speaking of bills, Martin, what do you know of a bill drawn by a bunch of Bellair Germans, to keep Americans off British passenger ships?” “Nothing. And I don’t want to until I have to.” “That’ll be soon,” prophesied Jeremy. “I’m going to fight that.” “I don’t know about that,” doubted the other. “There are two sides to all these questions, remember.” “There are two sides to the war. Admitted. But there’s only one side to Americanism. And this is a question of American rights.” “But is it quite fair to our Cause, to endanger it now for an issue that you are n’t called on to meet?” “If our cause isn’t American, then The Guardian is going to quit it,” retorted Jeremy heatedly. “What’s more, Martin, if I ever had to suspect that when the issue comes you would n’t be for America against--” “Stop right there!” the other adjured him, laughing. “When you hear me speak an un-American word or see me do an un-American act, it will be time enough to worry. But in the business now on hand we need those German votes, and I’ll do just as much to hold them as you can to drive them away.” On his return trip to the office, Jeremy encountered Eli Wade, the Boot & Shoe Surgeon, and Nick Milliken. Wade shook hands with him, and looked at his feet. “You’re standing solid now, Mr. Robson,” he said. “I went on my knees and thanked God when I read your editorial.” “Not me,” put in Milliken. “That ain’t my God. I don’t worship Mars.”