The little greengrocer was silent a moment and then he said thoughtfully, "I sometimes think, Mr. Goldman, what this country wants is a really good war." Mr. Goldman smiled in a superior way. "Well, I don't mind telling you," he said, "that I've thought that for the last twenty years. Not this country only, but Europe, the whole world." "You're right, Mr. Goldman." There was a grandeur in the conception that in spite of the weather almost moved his neighbor to enthusiasm. "Stands to reason, my boy, and I'll tell you why. The world is overpoppylated. Look at this town of ours." With the finger of an Olympian the pawnbroker pointed down the hillside to the smoking cauldron below. "Poppylation two hundred and sixty odd thousand at the last census. And when I first set up in business, the year before the Franco-Prussian War, it was seventy-two thousand. And it's not only here, it's all over the world alike." "That is so, Mr. Goldman. And they say that in America it's even worse. In fact, wherever you look the competition is cruel." "Yes, Hollis, a real good war would do a power of good. We want Old Boney back again--then there might be breathing space for a bit. As it is this country is overrun with aliens." William assented gloomily. "This town of ours, my boy, is crawling with Germans. They come over here and take the bread out of our mouths. They work for nothing and they live on nothing. They learn all our trades and then they go back to the Fatherland, and undersell us." Said Bill Hollis with the air of a prophet, "I reckon that sooner or later we'll be having a scrap with the Germans." "Not likely." The pawnbroker's tone was a little contemptuous. "The Germans can get all they want without fighting. Peaceful penetration's their game. They are the cleverest nation in the world. In another twenty years they'll own it all." Upon this last expression of his wisdom Mr. Goldman gave a final touch to his straw hat and its cool garland, waddled down a box-bordered path and out of the gate at the bottom of his garden. II The departure of Mr. Goldman left a void in the heart of Mr. William Hollis. He was a sociable man, with a craving for the company of his fellows, and although for quite a long time now his distinguished neighbor had been clearly labeled in his mind as "a pursy old pig," he was an interesting person to talk to when he was in the humor. He was not always in the humor, it was true, for he was a "warm" man, an owner of house property; therefore he was in the happy position of not having to be civil to anybody when he didn't feel like it. This afternoon, however, he had unbent.