The valiant colonel would have found it very difficult to give such a proof of his want of occupation, though it was not the pockets that were wanting.

“And no war in prospect, then,” said the famous J.T.  Maston, scratching his gutta-percha cranium with his steel hook; “there is not a cloud on the horizon now that there is so much to do in the science of artillery!  I myself finished this very morning a diagram with plan, basin, and elevation of a mortar destined to change the laws of warfare!”

“Indeed!” replied Tom Hunter, thinking involuntarily of the Honourable J.T.  Maston’s last essay.

“Indeed!” answered Maston.  “But what is the use of the good results of such studies and so many difficulties conquered?  It is mere waste of time.  The people of the New World seem determined to live in peace, and our bellicose Tribune has gone as far as to predict approaching catastrophes due to the scandalous increase of population!”

“Yet, Maston,” said Colonel Blomsberry, “they are always fighting in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities!”

“What of that?”

“Why, there might be something to do over there, and if they accepted our services—­”

“What are you thinking of?” cried Bilsby.  “Work at ballistics for the benefit of foreigners!”

“Perhaps that would be better than not doing it at all,” answered the colonel.

“Doubtless,” said J.T.  Maston, “it would be better, but such an expedient cannot be thought of.”

“Why so?” asked the colonel.

“Because their ideas of advancement would be contrary to all our American customs.  Those folks seem to think that you cannot be a general-in-chief without having served as second lieutenant, which comes to the same as saying that no one can point a gun that has not cast one.  Now that is simply—­”

“Absurd!” replied Tom Hunter, whittling the arms of his chair with his bowie-knife; “and as things are so, there is nothing left for us but to plant tobacco or distil whale-oil!”

“What!” shouted J.T.  Maston, “shall we not employ these last years of our existence in perfecting firearms?  Will not a fresh opportunity present itself to try the ranges of our projectiles?  Will the atmosphere be no longer illuminated by the lightning of our cannons?  Won’t some international difficulty crop up that will allow us to declare war against some transatlantic power?  Won’t France run down one of our steamers, or won’t England, in defiance of the rights of nations, hang up three or four of our countrymen?”

“No, Maston,” answered Colonel Blomsberry; “no such luck!  No, not one of those incidents will happen; and if one did, it would be of no use to us.  American sensitiveness is declining daily, and we are going to the dogs!”

“Yes, we are growing quite humble,” replied Bilsby.

“And we are humiliated!” answered Tom Hunter.

“All that is only too true,” replied J.T.  Maston, with fresh vehemence.  “There are a thousand reasons for fighting floating about, and still we don’t fight!  We economise legs and arms, and that to the profit of folks that don’t know what to do with them.  Look here, without looking any farther for a motive for war, did not North America formerly belong to the English?”