And this, he argued, was his real value:  the spirit ever more potent than the flesh.  Why, he had heard men joke about this war!  It was a long way from home.  What difference did it make to them if those people over there were being starved, outraged, murdered?  That was their own lookout.  Friends of his had said that they were willing to fight to a finish if America were threatened with invasion, but that could never happen.  America was the biggest and richest country in the world.  She attended to her own business and asked nothing but that the other nations do likewise.

And those countries over there were attending to their own business.  If our ships were blown up, it was our own fault.  We had been warned.  Anyway, the men who owned those ships were out to make money and willing to take a chance.  It wasn’t our business to mix in.  We had troubles enough at home.  As Lorry pondered the shallow truths a great light came to him. “Troubles enough at home,” that was it!  America had already been invaded, yet men slumbered in fancied security.  He had been at Sterling—­

Lorry could hear Ramon stirring about in the kitchen.  The rhythmically muffled sound suggested the mixing of flapjacks.  Lorry could smell the thin, appetizing fragrance of coffee.

With characteristic abruptness, he made his decision, but with no spoken word, no gesture, no emotion.  He saw a long day’s work before him.  He would tackle it like a workman.

And immediately he felt buoyantly himself again.  The matter was settled.

He washed vigorously.  The cold water brought a ruddy glow to his face.  He whistled as he strode to the kitchen.  He slapped the gentle-eyed Ramon on the shoulder.  Pancake batter hissed as it slopped over on the stove.

“Cheer up, amigo!” he cried!  “Had a good look at the sun this mornin’?”

“No, senor.  I have made the breakfast, si.”

“Well, she’s out there, shinin’ right down on Arizona.”

“The senora?” queried Ramon, puzzled.

“No; the sun.  Don’t a mornin’ like this make you feel like jumpin’ clean out of your boots and over the fence?”

“Not until I have made the flapcake, Senor Lorry.”

“Well, go the limit.  Guess I’ll roust out dad.”

* * * * *

Bud Shoop scowled, perspired, and swore.  Bondsman, close to Shoop’s chair, blinked and lay very still.  His master was evidently beyond any proffer of sympathy or advice.  Yet he had had no argument with any one lately.  And he had eaten a good breakfast.  Bondsman knew that.  Whatever the trouble might be, his master had not consulted him about it.  It was evidently a matter that dogs could not understand, and hence, very grave.  Bondsman licked his chops nervously.  He wanted to go out and lie in the sunshine, but he could not do that while his master suffered such tribulation of soul.  His place was close to his master now, if ever.