Westerling’s ambition on edge communicated itself to the premier, whose soft hands, long since divorced from any labor except official hand-shaking and the exercise of authority, were bending the paper-knife with unconscious vigor.

“All the achievements of power form only a dull background for victory in war to a people’s imagination!” he exclaimed.  “Your name and mine to symbolize an age!  What power for us!  What power for the nation!”

From a sudden, unwitting exertion of his strength the knife which had been the recipient of his emotions snapped in two.  Rather carefully he laid the pieces on the table before he rose and turned to Westerling, his decision made.

“If the people respond with the war fever, then it is war!” he said.  “I take you at your word that you will win!”

Westerling’s chair creaked with the tense drawing of his muscles in the impulse of delight.  He had gained the great purpose; but there was another and vital one on his programme.

“A condition!” he announced.  “From the moment war begins the army is master of all intelligence, all communication, all resources.  Everything we require goes into the crucible!”

“And the press—­the mischievous, greedy, but very useful press?” asked the premier.

“It also shall serve; also obey.  No lists of killed and wounded shall be given out until I am ready.  The public must know nothing except what I choose to tell.  I act for the people and the nation.”

“That is agreed,” said the premier.  “For these terrible weeks every nerve and muscle of the nation is at your service to win for the nation.  In three or four days I shall know if the public rises to the call.  If not—­” He shook his head.

“While all the information given out is provocative to our people, you will declare your hope that war may be averted,” Westerling continued.  “This will screen our purpose.  Finally, on top of public enthusiasm will come the word that the Browns have fired the first shot—­as they must when we cross the frontier—­that they have been killing our soldiers.  This will make the racial spirit of every man respond.  Having decided for war, every plan is worthy that helps to victory.”

“It seems fiendish!” exclaimed the premier in answer to a thought eddying in the powerful current of his brain.  “Fiendish with calculation, but merciful, as you say.”

“A fast, terrific campaign!  A ready machine taking the road!” Westerling declared.  “Less suffering than if we went to war carelessly for a long campaign—­than if we allowed sentiment to interfere with intellect.”

“I like your energy, your will!” said the premier admiringly.  “And about the declaration of war?  We shall time that to your purpose.”

“Declarations of war before striking, by nations taking the aggressive, are a disadvantage,” Westerling explained.  “They are going out of practice.  Witness the examples of Japan against Russia and the Balkan allies against Turkey.  In these days declarations are not necessary as a warning of what is going to happen.  They belong to the etiquette of fencers.”