After dinner, when there was nothing to call him to the House, Briggs would occasionally be joined by a politician, or by one of the Army or Navy men who frequented the club. He dreaded meeting the officers even more than the politicians. He had grown tired of hearing of the exploits of the Spanish War, of the controversy between rival Admirals and of the rare qualities, on the one hand, of this General or that, and the injustice of the General’s advance over officers who had given many years of faithful work to the service. The jealousies and the rivalries among the heroes disgusted him, and the bragging among some of the veterans gave him a contempt for war. At moments he had a horror of meeting anyone except the young fellow who kept him from thinking about himself. He wondered if he had grown suddenly old. The talk of the club made him feel as if life had become sordid and mean, as if nothing was ever done from an unselfish motive. In these moods he would sometimes take Guy with him for a ride in the country on a trolley-car to Chevy Chase, where they would sit on the porch of the club and watch the fireflies gleaming over the green sward, or, as oftener happened, to Cabin John’s, where they amused themselves by studying the crowd. Cabin John’s used to remind Briggs of his early days in the country when he attended the church-picnics. He found himself now going back to those days very often. After all, he reflected, the plain democratic life was the best. And it was this very kind of life that he had been striving so desperately to get away from.