On the eight-ten he was meeting a new class of neighbors—all eight to ten thousand dollar men, with a few above that figure, though the latter generally moved to the Heights at round twelve thousand. They were men whose lives were now polished and round like stones on the seashore within reach of the waves. They varied, mostly, in their dimensions, with of course some differences of political coloring. But they were fast becoming neutral even in politics. With America at war the old issues were disappearing. Most of the men had long since become used to each other, but Carter, sitting in the smoker—it was almost like a private car reserved for those not due at their offices until nine—was actually thrilled by his associates. And if ever he found an opportunity to refer among them to “my son at Harvard” he was puffed up all the rest of the day. The only thing he regretted was that the war had done away with football, because in high school the lad had promised to make a name for himself in the game. Still, even that had its redeeming features: his neck was safe. Though the boy was climbing toward six feet and weighed, at eighteen, round one hundred and seventy, he threw himself into the line in those final school games with a recklessness that made Carter, looking on, catch his breath. Carter had not been able to keep pace with the boy’s physical growth. It still seemed to him but a brief time ago that he had been carrying him round in his arms as a baby. And he had carried him for miles. He had not been able to keep his hands off him. He had loved to feel the downy head against his cheek and the frightened little heart pounding against his own. Night after night he had walked the floor with him with a sense of creation akin to God’s. And when anything was really the matter with the child Carter became a trembling wreck. Well, those days were something to look back upon now with a smile. They even played their part in the present. They afforded the contrast necessary to allow him to extract to the last drop his final triumphant success. Some of those who had never taken the seven-fifteen did not know what it meant to take the eight-ten. Carter, who had previously been content with one paper, now bought the _Times_ and the _Sun_ at the station and glanced through the headlines. He had read with a thrill of pride, as did everyone in the whole car on that early spring morning, the President’s declaration of war. He was sitting beside Culver, of the Second National Bank, and exclaimed: “Guess that’ll make Wilhelm sit up and take notice, eh?” Culver was an older man. Carter could have punched him for his response in a level voice: “Yes. But ’tis going to make us sit up and take notice, too.” “What do you mean?” demanded Carter with a trace of aggressiveness. “I mean that our resources are going to be tested to the limit before we’re through with this.”