"Thank you," said Larry, "I prefer to stay where I am, I am much too shy."

Cries of "Platform! Platform!" however, rose on every side, to which Larry finally yielded, and encouraged by the cheers of his fellow students and of his other friends in the audience, he climbed upon the platform. His slight, graceful form, the look of intellectual strength upon his pale face, his modest bearing, his humorous smile won sympathy even from those who were impatient at the prolonging of the meeting.

"Mr. Chairman," he began with an exaggerated look of fear upon his face, "I confess I am terrified by the position in which I find myself, and were it not that I feel deeply the immense importance of this question and the gravity of the appeal with which the speaker closed his address, I would not have ventured to say a word. My first question is this: Does not Mr. Allen greatly exaggerate the danger of war with Germany? And my reasons for this question are these. Every one knows that the relations between Great Britain and Germany have been steadily improving during the last two or three years. I note in this connection a statement made only a few months ago by the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill. It reads as follows:

"'The Germans are a nation with robust minds and a high sense of honour and fair play. They look at affairs in a practical military spirit.

They like to have facts put squarely before them. They do not want them wrapped up lest they should be shocked by them, and relations between the two countries have steadily improved during the past year. They have steadily improved side by side with every evidence of our determination to maintain our naval supremacy.'

"These words spoken in the British House of Commons give us Mr. Winston Churchill's deliberate judgment as to the relations between Germany and Great Britain. Further Mr. Allen knows that during the past two years various peace delegations composed of people of the highest standing in each country have exchanged visits. I understand from private correspondence from those who have promoted these delegations that the last British delegation was received in Germany with the utmost enthusiasm by men of all ranks and professions, generals, admirals, burgomasters, professors and by the Kaiser himself, all professing devotion to the cause of peace and all wishing the delegation G.o.dspeed.

Surely these are indications that the danger of war is pa.s.sing away.

You, Sir, have made an appeal for war preparation tonight, a great and solemn appeal and a moving appeal for war--merciful G.o.d, for war! I have been reading about war during the past three months, I have been reading again Zola's Debacle--a great appeal for preparedness, you would say.

Yes, but a terrific picture of the woes of war."

Larry paused. A great silence had fallen upon the people. There flashed across his mind as he spoke a vision of war's red, reeking way across the fair land of France. In a low but far-penetrating voice, thrilling with the agonies which were spread out before him in vision, he pictured the battlefield with its mad blood l.u.s.t, the fury of men against men with whom they had no quarrel, the mangled ruins of human remains in dressing station and hospital, the white-faced, wild-eyed women waiting at home, and back of all, safe, snug and cynical, the selfish, ambitious promoters of war. Steady as a marching column without pause or falter, in a tone monotonous yet thrilling with a certain subdued pa.s.sion, he gave forth his indictment of war. He was on familiar ground for this had been the theme of his prize essay last winter. But to-night the thing to him was vital, terrifying, horrible. He was delivering no set address, but with all the power of his soul he was pleading for comrades and friends, for wives and sweethearts, for little babes and for white-haired mothers, "and in the face of all this, you are asking us to prepare that we Canadians, peaceful and peace-loving, should do our share to perpetrate this unspeakable outrage upon our fellow men, this insolent affront against Almighty G.o.d. Tell me, if Canada, if Britain, were to expend one-tenth, one-hundredth part of the energy, skill, wealth, in promoting peace which they spend on war, do you not think we might have a surer hope of warding off from our Canadian homes this unspeakable horror?" With white face and flaming eyes, his form tense and quivering, he stood facing the advocate of war. For some moments, during which men seemed scarcely to breathe, the two faced each other.

Then in a voice that rang throughout the theatre as it had not in all his previous speech, but vibrant with sad and pa.s.sionate conviction, Mr.

Allen made reply.

"It is to ward off from our people and from our Canadian homes this calamity that you have so vividly pictured for us that I have made my appeal to-night. Your enemy who seeks your destruction will be more likely to halt in his spring if you cover him with your gun than if you appeal to him with empty hands. For this reason, it is that once more I appeal to my fellow Canadians in G.o.d's name, in the name of all that we hold dear, let us with all our power and with all speed prepare for war."

"G.o.d Save the King," said the Chairman. And not since the thrilling days of Mafeking had Winnipeg people sung that quaint archaic, but moving anthem as they sang it that night.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CLOSING OF THE DOOR

From the remarks of his friends even as they thronged him, offering congratulations, Mr. Allen could easily gather that however impressive his speech had been, few of his audience had taken his warning seriously.

"You queered my speech, Larry," he said, "but I forgive you."

"Not at all, Sir," replied Larry. "You certainly got me."

"I fear," replied Mr. Allen, "that I am 'the voice crying in the wilderness.'"

At the Allens' party Larry was overwhelmed with congratulations on his speech, the report of which had been carried before him by his friends.

"They tell me your speech was quite thrilling," said Mrs. Allen as she greeted Larry.

"Your husband is responsible for everything," replied Larry.

"No," said Mr. Allen, "Miss Jane here is finally responsible. Hers were the big sh.e.l.ls I fired."

"Not mine," replied Jane. "I got them from Mr. Romayne, your brother-in-law, Larry."

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Larry. "That's where the stuff came from! But it was mighty effective, and certainly you put it to us, Mr. Allen.

You made us all feel like fighting. Even Scuddy, there, ran amuck for a while."

"What?" said Mr. Allen, "you don't really mean to say that Scudamore, our genial Y. M. C. A. Secretary, was in that sc.r.a.p? That cheers me greatly."

"Was he!" said Ramsay Dunn, whose flushed face and preternaturally grave demeanour sufficiently explained his failure to appear at Dr. Brown's dinner. "While Mr. Smart's life was saved by the timely upper-cut of our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, without a doubt Mr. Scudamore--hold him there, Scallons, while I adequately depict his achievement--"

Immediately Scallons and Ted Tuttle, Scudamore's right and left supports on the scrimmage line, seized him and held him fast. "As I was saying,"

continued Dunn, "great as were the services rendered to the cause by our distinguished pacifist, Mr. Gwynne, the supreme glory must linger round the head of our centre scrim and Y. M. C. A. Secretary, Mr. Scudamore, to whose effective intervention both Mr. Smart and Mr. Gwynne owe the soundness of their physical condition which we see them enjoying at the present moment."

In the midst of his flowing periods Dunn paused abruptly and turned away. He had caught sight of Jane's face, grieved and shocked, in the group about him. Later he approached her with every appearance of profound humiliation. "Miss Brown," he said, "I must apologise for not appearing at dinner this evening."

"Oh, Mr. Dunn," said Jane, "why will you do it? Why break the hearts of all your friends?"

"Why? Because I am a fool," he said bitterly. "If I had more friends like you, Miss Brown," he paused abruptly, then burst forth, "Jane, you always make me feel like a beast." But Larry's approach cut short any further conversation.

"Jane, I want to talk to you," said Larry impetuously. "Let us get away somewhere."

In the library they found a quiet spot, where they sat down.

"I want to tell you," said Larry, "that I feel that I treated you shabbily to-day. I have only a poor excuse to offer, but I should like to explain."

"Don't, Larry," said Jane, her words coming with hurried impetuosity. "I was very silly. I had quite forgotten it. You know we have always told each other things, and I expected that you would come in this morning just to talk over your medal, and I did want a chance to say how glad I was for you, and how glad and how proud I knew your mother would be; and to tell the truth really," she added with a shy little laugh, "I wanted to have you congratulate me on my prize too. But, Larry, I understand how you forgot."

"Forgot!" said Larry. "No, Jane, I did not forget, but this telegram from Chicago came last night, and I was busy with my packing all morning and then in the afternoon I thought I would hurry through a few calls--they always take longer than one thinks--and before I knew it I was late for dinner. I had not forgotten; I was thinking of you all day, Jane."

"Were you, Larry?" said Jane, a gentle tenderness in her smile. "I am glad."

Then a silence fell between them for some moments. They were both thinking of the change that was coming to their lives. Larry was wondering how he would ever do without this true-hearted friend whose place in his life he was only discovering now to be so large. He glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing with a soft radiance that seemed to overflow from some inner spring.

"Jane," he cried with a sudden impulse, "you are lovely, you are perfectly lovely."

A shy, startled, eager look leaped into her eyes. Then her face grew pale. She waited, expectant, tremulous. But at that instant a noisy group pa.s.sed into the library.

"Larry," whispered Jane, turning swiftly to him and laying her hand upon his arm, "you will take me home to-night."

"All right, Jane, of course," said Larry.

As they pa.s.sed out from the library Helen Brookes met them. "Larry, come here," she said in a voice of suppressed excitement. "Larry, don't you want to do something for me? Scuddy wants to take me home tonight, and I don't want him to."

"But why not, Helen? You ought to be good to Scuddy, poor chap. He's a splendid fellow, and I won't have him abused."

"Not to-night, Larry; I can't have him to-night. You will take me home, won't you? I am going very soon."

"You are, eh? Well, if you can go within ten minutes, I shall be ready."

"Say fifteen," said Helen, turning to meet Lloyd Rushbrook, the Beau Brummel of the college, who came claiming a dance.

Larry at once went in search of Jane to tell her of his engagement with Helen Brookes, but could find her nowhere, and after some time spent in a vain search, he left a message for her with his hostess. At the head of the stairs he found Helen waiting.

"Oh, hurry, Larry," she cried in a fever of excitement. "Let's get away quickly."

"Two minutes will do me," said Larry, rushing into the dressing room.