“The way that the Grays gave out our despatch convinces me of their intentions,” Partow said.  “Their people are rising to it and ours are rising in answer.  The Grays have been transferring regiments from distant provinces to their frontier because they will fight better in an invasion.  We are transferring home regiments to our frontier because they will fight for their own property.  By Thursday you will find that open mobilization on both sides has begun.”

“My department is ready,” said Lanstron, “all except your decision about press censorship.”

“A troublesome point,” responded Partow.  “I have procrastinated because two definite plans were fully worked out.  It is a matter of choice between them:  either publicity or complete secrecy.  You know I am no believer in riding two horses at once.  My mind is about made up; but let me hear your side again.  Sometimes I get conviction by probing another mans.”

Lanstron was at his best, for his own conviction was intense.

“Of course they will go in for secrecy; but our case is different,” he began.

Partow settled himself to listen with the gift of the organizer who draws from his informant the brevity of essentials.

“I should take the people into our confidence,” Lanstron proceeded.  “I should make them feel that we were one family fighting for all we hold dear against the invader.  If our losses are heavy, if we have a setback, then the inspiration of the heroism of those who have fallen and the danger of their own homes feeling the foot of the invader next will impel the living to greater sacrifices.  For the Grays are in the wrong.  The moral and the legal right is with us.”

“And the duty of men like you and me, chosen for the purpose,” said Partow, “is worthily to direct the courage that goes with moral right.  The overt act of war must come from them by violating our frontier, not in the African jungle but here.  Even when the burglar fingers the window-sash we shall not fire—­no, not until he enters our house.  When he does, you would have a message go out to our people that will set them quivering with indignation?”

“Yes, and I would let the names of our soldiers who fall first be known and how they fell, their backs to their frontier homes and their faces to the foe.”

“Our very liberality in giving news will help us to cover the military secrets which we desire to preserve,” Partow said, with slow emphasis.  “We shall hold back what we please, confident of the people’s trust.  Good policy that, yes!  But enough!  Your orders are ready, in detail, I believe.  You have nothing to add?”

“No, sir, nothing; at least, not until war begins.”

“Very well.  We shall have the orders issued at the proper moment,” concluded Partow.  “And Westerling is going to find,” he proceeded after a thoughtful pause, “that a man is readier to die fighting to hold his own threshold than fighting to take another man’s.  War is not yet solely an affair of machinery and numbers.  The human element is still uppermost.  I know something, perhaps, that Westerling does not know.  I have had an experience that he has not had and that few active officers of either army have had—­I have been under fire.”