“Patriotic! What then is patriotism? A fetish! Nothing more. A superstition fostered by capitalism for its own most selfish purposes. Oh, in that day, under the rule of the proletariat, patriotism will not be any more. Workers the world over will unite under one flag, the red flag of the common brotherhood. Not any longer will be nationalism, but internationalism. Not any longer will be wars, poverty, suffering; but peace, always peace, plenty, happiness!” The arc light on the bridge flashed up and lighted the speaker’s face, aglow with earnestness and conviction. That he was a devout believer in his own propaganda there could be no doubt. Hal lifted his elbows from the railing and shook his shoulders as if to cast off the spell laid on him by the speaker’s enthusiasm. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to hurry along or I’ll be late for drill. I’m glad to have had a talk with you, though; I’ve often wanted to hear one of you radicals expound your beliefs. I’ve thought and read about these things quite a bit. I like your idealism all right; but I can’t follow you practically.” “Ah, but some day you will, when you see the more clearly. I shall talk with you again; is it not so? I have much interest. We may reach common ground.” He held out his hand cordially, as to an old-time friend. So they shook hands and said good-night to each other, and then Private McCormack, with a leaning toward socialism, hurried along to the armory to attend to his duties as a soldier in the service of the State.