"We've heard a great deal about military preparedness lately," said the major, presently. "It's in my mind that we need another sort of preparedness even more. There _is_ such an emotion as patriotism, Mr. Waite, but it seems to be dormant in this people. A couple of generations of ease and prosperity and peace have lulled it to sleep. We have grown careless of our country, as we sometimes grow careless of our parents. But I believe patriotism is here--more than we need universal military training, more than we need artillery and ammunition and war-ships, we need its awakening. We can never have one sort of preparedness without the other." "I had never thought about it," said Potter. "Will you think about it, Mr. Waite? And when you have thought about it, see if you don't find it demanding something of you.... Do you know that an army without aeroplanes is like a blind man in a duel with a man who sees? Think about that. I sha'n't tell you how many 'planes we have, nor how many trained aviators. It would shock you." "I know something about that." "But have you realized that if events force us into this war we shall need, not hundreds of 'planes, but thousands--possibly twenty-five thousand?" Potter was astonished at the number. "Really?" he asked. "That many will be absolutely necessary, and the best and fastest 'planes that can be had. Where will we get twenty-five thousand of them?" "God knows," said Potter. "Mr. Waite, the War Department is not sleeping. Will it surprise you to know that I came to Detroit solely to have this talk with you?" "With me?" "We know all about you, and about every other amateur aviator in the country. _All_ about you," the major repeated. "I'm surprised you found it worth your while to come, then," Potter said, with, a trace of bitterness. "For instance," said the major, "we know what happened in your Pontchartrain Hotel the night the _Lusitania_ was sunk." Potter flushed angrily, but made no reply. "The manner of it," said the major, quietly, "was regrettable. The impulse behind it--and we looked for that impulse--was hoped to be something not regrettable. I came to find out that and other things. I have not come to offer advice, Mr. Waite, merely to get information valuable to our country.... Had you thought you might be valuable?" "General opinion seems to hold the opposite view." It was the major's turn to remain silent. He watched Potter's face keenly. "What do you want of me?" Potter asked, finally. "What would you do if war came?" countered the major. "Enlist, I suppose. As an aviator, if I could. I've been thinking of going to France, anyhow." "That's adventure," said the major. "And as for enlisting, would you be most valuable there or here--helping to produce those twenty-five thousand 'planes? Think that over." "Do you believe we shall be in it?" asked Potter.