"Perhaps he doesn't either," said his wife. "That's immature, isn't it? But I meant the immaturity of not seeing responsibilities--not taking them up, at least. You see, my dear, he's very young--only a year out of school. It's natural enough." "It's not natural at all," answered Mr. Brougham. "Just out of school--school is the very place to learn patriotism--drilling and all that--and I'm sure Granby is one of the most patriotic men I ever knew. He inspires most of his boys. No, I don't understand. I shall speak to David about his attitude." "Oh, don't! You'll have him enlisting to-morrow." "No; for I shall explain to him that he must wait." She smiled. "You're going to stir him up to want to do something which you won't allow him to do. Is that sensible, dear?" It wasn't sensible, but--more important--it was inevitable. Mr. Brougham, feeling as he did, could not be silent. He had always been proud of his boys, had always assumed they were stuff to be proud of. They had done decently in their lessons, well in their athletics. What could a father ask more? Now for the first time he found himself questioning his right to be proud, and the doubt was like poison in his system. He must speak to his son. The difficulty of "speaking to" people is that we either take too portentous a tone, and thus ruffle the minds we mean to impress, or else that we speak so casually as to make no impression at all. Mr. Brougham's leanings were all to the former manner, and recognizing this weakness he made one more effort at the indirect attack. Hearing that his nephew, a lieutenant of infantry, was about to sail, he sent for him to come and dine. In his greeting of the young man he tried to express his respect for the uniform, even when decorated by nothing more than a gold bar. "I envy you, my boy," he said. "I remember how I felt when I first put on those clothes in 1898--not that we can compare that war with this, but the emotion is the same--the emotion is always the same. We all envy you in this house." David looked rather impish. "Envy him!" he said. "And him such a bad sailor!" At this Brougham's brows contracted, but the lieutenant smiled. "Yes," he said; "won't I wish I had stayed at home!" This sentiment would have shocked Mr. Brougham except that he believed he recognized in it the decent Anglo-Saxon cloak of a profound feeling--very different from David's cold inaction. As soon as dinner was over he left the boys alone and took a chair on the piazza, from which he could watch the expressions of their faces. They fell at once into a conversation of the deepest interest; so interesting that they began to move their hands about in unaccustomed gestures. Once David lifted his and brought it down with a sidewise swoop. "That's it!" a voice rang out. "It's great!" Mr. Brougham felt justified in moving a little nearer. He then found that the subject of discussion was jazz-band records for the phonograph.