Indeed, this fact may have struck Mr. Murdwell himself. For as soon as the meal was under way he began to discuss, with a frankness and a humor to which his guests didn’t in the least object, the English custom of “not showing their goods in the window.” “And a very bad one, too,” said Mr. Murdwell, raising his glass. “To my mind it’s one of the reasons that’s brought this war about.” The vicar asked for enlightenment. “If your diplomacy had said: ‘Now look here, Fritz, old friend, if you don’t try to be a little gentleman and keep that torch away from the powder keg you’ll find big trouble,’ you wouldn’t have had to send for me to put the Central Empires out of business.” “Nothing could have prevented this war,” said the vicar in a deep tone. “It was inevitable.” “I am not sure that we shall agree about that,” said Mr. Murdwell coolly. “If you had let them know the strength of your hand they would never have dared to raise you.” The vicar shook his head in strong dissent. “This trouble goes back some way,” said Mr. Murdwell. “It was in the sixties that you first took to giving people the impression that they could make doormats of you. And then came the Alabama arbitration business in which you curled up at our big talk. We said, ‘England’s a dud,’ and we’ve been saying it ever since. And why? Because like friend Fritz and all the rest of the push, in diplomacy we take moderation for weakness.” “Would you have our diplomacy always in shining armor?” said the vicar. “No I wouldn’t. But there’s the golden mean. Think of the way you let Bismarck put his thumb to his nose.” “But that’s an old story.” “The historian of the future will have to tell it, though. It seems to me that the world has a pretty strong complaint against you. You’ve underplayed your hand a bit too much. If you had been the Kingpin of Europe, as you ought to have been, and kept the other scholars in their places, things might have been different.” This airy dogmatism amused the vicar. But in most other people it would have annoyed him extremely. “Of course I can’t agree,” he said mildly. “I am glad to say we don’t regard this war as a material issue. For us it is a conflict between right and wrong.” “Quite so,” said Mr. Murdwell. “And I’ve already figured that out for myself and that’s why I am here. If I criticize it’s in the spirit of friendship. In this war you’ve gone big. The fact is, you are a bigger proposition than outsiders thought. And the longer I stay here the sharper it bites me. Nobody knows what your resources are. Take our neighbor at Hart’s Ghyll. When I went the other day to make friends with him, it took my breath away to think of a man like that volunteering as a tommy to be frizzled in Gallipoli.” “But why shouldn’t he,” said the vicar, “if he felt it to be his duty?” “As you say, why not? But it’s large--for a man like that.” “Surely not more so for him than for anyone else.”