“Fourteen thousand four hundred and seventy-five,” the Prince answered promptly, “out of nearly seven millions who were eligible.  This pitiful result of itself might have been included amongst my arguments if I had felt that arguments were necessary.  Mr. Haviland, you may drive some of these young men to arms by persuasion, by appealing to them through their womankind or their employers, but you cannot create a national spirit.  And I tell you, and I have proved it, that the national spirit is not there.  I will go further,” the Prince continued with increased earnestness, “if you still are not weary of the subject.  I will point out to you how little encouragement the youth of this country receive from those who are above them in social station.  In every one of your counties there is a hunt, cricket clubs, golf clubs in such numbers that their statistics absolutely overwhelm me.  Everywhere one meets young men of leisure, well off, calmly proposing to settle down and spend the best part of their lives in what they call country life.  They will look after their estates; they will hunt a little, shoot a little, go abroad for two months in the winter, play golf a little, lawn tennis, perhaps, or cricket.  I tell you that there are hundreds and thousands of these young men, with money to spare, who have no uniform which they could wear,—­no, I want to change that!” the Prince cried with an impressive gesture,—­“who have no uniform which they will be able to wear when the evil time comes!  How will they feel then, these young men of family, whose life has been given to sports and to idle amusements, when their womankind come shrieking to them for protection and they dare not even handle a gun or strike a blow!  They must stand by and see their lands laid waste, their womankind insulted.  They must see the land run red with the blood of those who offer a futile resistance, but they themselves must stand by inactive.  They are not trained to fight as soldiers,—­they cannot fight as civilians.”

“The Prince forgets,” Bransome remarked dryly, “that an invasion of this country—­a practical invasion—­is very nearly an impossible thing.”

The Prince laughed softly.

“My friend,” he said, “if I thought that you believed that, although you are a Cabinet Minister of England I should think that you were the biggest fool who ever breathed.  Today, in warfare, nothing is impossible.  I will guarantee, I who have had only ten years of soldiering, that if Japan were where Holland is today, I would halve my strength in ships and I would halve my strength in men, and I would overrun your country with ease at any time I chose.  You need not agree with me, of course.  It is not a subject which we need discuss.  It is, perhaps, out of my province to allude to it.  The feeling which I have in my heart is this.  The laws of history are incontrovertible.  So surely as a great nation has weakened with prosperity, so that her limbs have lost their suppleness and her finger joints have stiffened, so surely does the plunderer come in good time.  The nation which loses its citizen army drives the first nail into its own coffin.  I do not say who will invade you, or when, although, to my thinking, any one could do it.  I simply say that in your present state invasion from some one or other is a sure thing.”