The three debates all concerned the “Causes of the War in Europe,” and honours appeared to rest with a small and stout, stolidly “pro-German” girl debater, who had brought with her and translated at sight absa-loot proofs (so she called them), printed in German, that Germany had been attacked by Belgium at the low instigation of the envious English.  Everybody knew it wasn’t true; but she made an impression and established herself as a debater, especially as her opponent was quite confounded by her introduction of printed matter.

When the debates and the verdicts were concluded, the orator appeared, and Fred’s compassion extended itself so far that he even refrained from looking inquisitively at the boy in the seat next to his; but he made one side wager, mentally—­that if Ramsey had consented to be thoroughly confidential just then, he would have confessed to feeling kind o’ funny.

Dora was charmingly dressed, and she was pale; but those notable eyelashes of hers were all the more notable against her pallor.  And as she spoke with fire, it was natural that her colour should come back quite flamingly and that her eyes should flash in shelter of the lashes.  “The Christian Spirit and Internationalism” was her subject, yet she showed no meek sample of a Christian Spirit herself when she came to attacking war-makers generally, as well as all those “half-developed tribesmen,” and “victims of herd instinct” who believed that war might ever be justified under any circumstances of atrocity.  She was eloquent truly, and a picture of grace and girlish dignity, even when she was most vigorous.  Nothing could have been more militant than her denunciation of militancy.

“She’s an actual wonder,” Fred said, when the two had got back to Mrs. Meigs’s, afterward.  “Don’t you look at me like that:  I’m talkin’ about her as a public character, and there’s nothin’ personal about it.  You let me alone.”

Ramsey was not clear as to his duty.  “Well—­”

“If any person makes a public speech,” Fred protested, “I got a perfect right to discuss ’em, no matter what you think of ’em”—­and he added hastily—­“or don’t think of ’em!”

“Look here—­”

“Good heavens!” Fred exclaimed.  “You aren’t expecting to interfere with me if I say anything about that little fat Werder girl that argued for Germany, are you?  Or any of the other speakers?  I got a right to talk about ’em just as public speakers, haven’t I?  Well, what I say is:  Dora Yocum as an orator is just an actual perfect wonder.  Got any objections?”

“N-no.”

“All right then.”  Fred settled himself upon the window seat with a pipe, and proceeded, “There’s something about her, when she stands there, she stands so straight and knows just what she’s up to, and everything, why, there’s something about her makes the cold chills go down your spine—­I mean my spine, not yours particularly!  You sit down—­I mean anybody’s spine, doggone it!” And as Ramsey increased the manifestations of his suspicions, lifting a tennis racket over the prostrate figure, “Oh, murder,” Fred said, resignedly.  “All right, we’ll change the subject.  That fat little Werder cutie made out a pretty good case for Germany, didn’t she?”