If the Great War came to the country, as Dick believed it must soon, would Sabinsport take it as she was taking the Border Trouble--send her men, readjust her affairs, go on with her daily duties? He wondered, but he was comforted; and as he watched the way Sabinsport took the successive steps of the Mexican difficulty, he gathered more and more hope. She watched every day's events, discussed, criticized, condemned, approved. She knew as much of the essentials as the metropolis, though, as he realized, the metropolis was loudly proclaiming that Sabinsport did not even know there was a war either with Mexico or in Europe; that she was simply a sample of all of the United States outside of a portion of the Atlantic Coast, lost in money-making and comfort-seeking. Dick said little, but more and more he became convinced that Sabinsport was taking the thing quite as seriously, if less noisily, than that portion of the Atlantic Coast that felt that all loyalty and understanding was centered in itself. She had her losses. The little grocer never came back--shot in a riot. Two farmers' boys died of fever, and Sabinsport buried them in pride and sorrow. "She takes it so straight," he thought. "I wonder if it will be like this when the great thing comes." The great thing was coming, he felt, and he felt that Sabinsport vaguely knew it--was only waiting to be sure. To him it all depended on Sabinsport whether we went into the war--not on the Administration, not on Congress, not on the angry, indignant voices that hurled cries of scorn at her. We would go in when Sabinsport was sure! Sure of what? When she was sure that we could no longer do business with Germany. CHAPTER VII This crescendo of interest was not lost on Ralph. He knew in his heart it was sucking him in, had known since the day the news had come of the attack on Verdun. He knew then that he, like Sabinsport, cared about the result; but he kept his feeling carefully concealed, hardly admitting it to himself.