"Pshaw, man! You don't know what you are saying. You don't know what chances you are throwing away. Look at it. It isn't the military fame,--the glorification in the newspapers,--seeing pictures of yourself in the shop windows, charging full tilt among the Mexicans, and all that. You can take that for what it's worth. Tastes differ in such matters. But, I tell you, the men who distinguish themselves in Mexico are going to carry all before them in the political world. The people will go for them, neck or nothing. I know what our enlightened democracy is made of."--Here a slight grin flickered for an instant about the corners of his mouth; but he grew serious again at once.--"Yes, sir, a new world is going to begin. The old incumbents--Webster, Clay, Calhoun, and the rest--will pass off the stage, before long, and make room for younger men--men who will keep up with the times. Then will be our chance! Put brass in your forehead,--you have money enough in your purse already,--get a halo of Mexican glory round your head,--and you will shoot up like a rocket. First go to the war, then dive into politics, and you and I will be the biggest frogs in the puddle." "There's a fallacy in your conclusions," said Morton; "the officers of rank, the generals and colonels, will carry off the glory; and we shall have nothing but the blows." "The Mexican bullets will make that all right. I tell you, they are going to fly like hail. They will dock off the heads above us, and make a clear path for us to mount by." "Suppose that they should hit the wrong man," suggested Morton. "Pshaw!" exclaimed Rosny, "we won't look at the matter in that light." There was a momentary pause. "Now's your time," urged Rosny. "Come, say the word." Morton paced the room with knit brows and lips pressed together. "Glory,"--exclaimed his military friend, summing up the advantages of a Mexican campaign,--"glory,--preferment,--life, of the fastest kind,--what more would you have?" Morton had a strong native thirst for adventure, and a _penchant_ for military exploit. In his present frame of mind, he felt violently impelled to cut loose from all his old ideas and scruples, and launch at once upon a new life, fresh, unshackled, and reckless,--to plunge headlong into the tumult of the active world; fight its battles, run its races, give and take its blows, strain after its prizes,--forget the past and all its associations in the fever of the present. Mexico rose before his thoughts--snowy volcanoes, and tropical forests; the cocoa, the palm, and the cactus; bastioned cities and intrenched heights; the rush and din of battle; war with its fierce excitements and unbounded license. To his disordered mood, the scene had fascinations almost resistless, and he burned to play his part in the fiery drama.