DURING THE WAR
"A WAR" he said emphatically, laying his big hand flat on the bill of fare, "a war 's a fire in a house. It 's fought to save the house. The house 's the important thing. Everybody understands that at the time. Nowadays, you all talk and write about it—glorious fire—heroic firemen—as if the whole thing 'd been some sort of spectacle that the rest of us stood around and cheered! All damn nonsense!"
"Father! Father!" his daughter cried, between laughter and frowns. "You 'll scandalize the waiters."
The lieutenant smiled at him unabashed. "That 's true of a civil war, at least."
"Any war 's a civil war," he replied. "We 're all human beings."
He was leaning forward, with shoulders almost as broad as the small table, with the huge head of a sagacious giant, glaring under irascible gray eyebrows. The slim lieutenant looked like a David to his Goliath—respectful but undismayed. The daughter put her hand on her father's great maul of a fist. "You cross old bear," she said. "Why don't you order your dinner? You 're hungry."
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