Meantime, one little bit of consolation came to help Mr. Spugg to bear the burden of the war.  I found him in the lounge room of the club one afternoon among a group of men, exhibiting two medals that were being passed from hand to hand.

“Sent to me by the French government,” he explained proudly.  “They’re for William and Henry.  The motto means, ‘For Conspicuous Courage"’ (Mr. Spugg drew himself up with legitimate pride).  “I shall keep one and let Alfred keep the other till they come back.”  Then he added, as an afterthought, “They may never come back.”

From that day on, Mr. Spugg, with his French medal on his watch chain, was the most conspicuous figure in the club.  He was pointed out as having done more than any other one man in the institution to keep the flag flying.  But presently the limit of Mr. Spugg’s efforts and sacrifices was reached.  Even patriotism such as his must have some bounds.

On entering the club one afternoon I could hear his voice bawling vociferously in one of the telephone cabinets in the hall.  “Hello, Washington,” he was shouting.  “Is that Washington?  Long Distance, I want Washington.”

Fifteen minutes later he came up to the sitting room, still flushed with indignation and excitement.  “That’s the limit,” he said, “the absolute limit!”

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“They drafted my son Alfred,” he answered.

“Just imagine it!  When we’re so busy in the office that we’re getting down there at half past eight in the morning!  Drafted Alfred!  ‘Great Caesar’ I said to them!  ’Look here!  You’ve had my chauffeur and he’s gassed, and you’ve had my gardener and he’s torpedoed and they’re both prisoners, and last month I sent you my own man!  That,’ I said, ‘is about the limit.’”

“What did they say,” I asked.

“Oh, it’s all right.  They’ve fixed it all up and they’ve apologized as well.  Alfred won’t go, of course, but it makes one realise that you can carry a thing too far.  Why, they’d be taking me next!”

“Oh, surely not!” I said.

3.—­If Germany Had Won

Sometimes, in the past, we have grown a little impatient with our North American civilisation, with its strident clamour, its noisy elections, its extremes of liberty, its occasional corruption and the faults that we now see were the necessary accompaniments of its merits.  But let us set beside it a picture such as this, taken from the New York Imperial Gazette of 1925—­or from any paper of the same period, such as would have been published if Germany had won.

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General Boob of Boobenstiff, Imperial Governor of New York, will attend divine (Imperial) service on Sunday morning next at the church of St. John the (Imperial) Divine.  The subway cars will be stopped while the General is praying.  All subway passengers are enjoined (befohlen), during the thus-to-be-ordered period of cessation, to remain in a reverential attitude.  Those in the seats will keep the head bowed.  Those holding to the straps will elevate one leg, keeping the knee in the air.