society. I ask you if we, who are the have-nots, should be proud and glad--as they tell us we should be--to die for the perpetuation of this state of affairs?" Rod had an uncomfortable impression of the perfectly ordered and smoothly moving world he knew being critically examined and condemned by a dispassionate, impartial, and very acute intelligence. As Andy Hall put it, there seemed no bond of common interest, of sentiment, even of common justice to bind them together. Andy did not ask on behalf of his class, nor of himself as an individual, "What is there in it for us?" He only asked in moody accents, "Why should we, who have only the shadow, sacrifice ourselves for those who have the substance?" Only a sophist could make other than one reply. And Rod was no sophist. He was only an earnest and troubled youngster reacting to the day and hour, according to the best traditions of the best of his class. He felt that there was more to be said on the subject than a laconic answer to Andy's "why?" There must be, or his world was a sham, thriving on social usury, and patriotism was a farce. It did not seem to Rod this could be possible. But he could not voice the thing that was in him. It was an emotional certainty, not a reasoned conviction. And he knew that as an impulsion to act the first was by far the greatest driving force in all men. "I don't know. A man,--each man--must answer that for himself," he spluttered. "It's like this. We're all in the same boat. If everybody stands on his rights and demands a readjustment of a faulty arrangement of things before he will make a single defensive move--we'll be whipped out of hand. In fact, it looks as if the Germans had us staggering now. And I daresay two thirds of their armies are made up of the working class of Germany--who seem to be quite in accord with their masters' policy of conquest, or they wouldn't put up such a corking fight. If you fellows as a class refuse to meet them at their own game----" he threw out his hands in an eloquent gesture.