war is! I've seen this garden all spattered with blood and dead bodies
in a row here at our feet, and heard the groans and the cheers--the
groans of the wounded here in the garden and the cheers of the men who
had taken the castle hill!"

Feller, with the lids of shaded eyes half closed, watched the oncoming
squadrons in a staring mesmerism. His only movement was a tattoo of the
fingers on his trousers' legs.

"War!" he exclaimed with motionless lips. "War!" he repeated softly,
coaxingly. One would easily have mistaken the thought of war as
something delightful to him if he had not appeared so gentle and
detached. It seemed doubtful if he realized what he was saying or even
that he was speaking aloud.

As the Gray squadron started to turn in order to keep on their side of
the white posts which circled around the spur of La Tir, one of the
dirigibles failed to respond to its rudder and lost speed; that in the
rear, responding too readily, had its leader on the thwart. An
aeroplane, sheering too abruptly to make room, tipped at a dangerous
angle and a tragedy seemed due within another wink of the eye.

"Huh-huh-huh!" came from Feller in quick breaths, like the panting of a
dog on a hot day.

"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Galland in one long breath of suspense.

The envelope of the second dirigible grazed the envelope of its leader;
the groggy plane righted itself and volplaned underneath a dirigible;
and, though scattered, the Gray squadron drew away safely from the