ce the enemy wants it, it must be
that way."

Orders were issued for the column to advance as quietly as possible,
while skirmishers were thrown out to prevent any ambush. Shepard rode
again into the forest but Dick remained with Warner and Pennington.
Warner as usual was as cool as ice, and spoke in the precise, scholarly
way that he liked.

"We march parallel with the enemy," he said, "and yet we're bound to meet
him and fight. It's a beautiful mathematical demonstration. The roads
are not parallel in an exact sense but converge to a point. Hence,
it is not our wish, but the convergence of these roads that brings us
together in conflict. So we see that the greatest issues of our life are
determined by mathematics. It's a splendid and romantic study. I wish
you fellows would pay more attention to it."

"Mathematics beautiful and romantic!" exclaimed Pennington. "Why, George,
you're out of your head! There's nothing in the world I hate more than
the sight of an algebra!"

"The trouble is with you and not with the algebra. You were alluding
in a depreciatory manner to my head but it's your own head that fails.
When I said algebra was a beautiful and romantic study I used the
adjectives purposely. Out of thousands of adjectives in the dictionary I
selected those two to fit the case. What could be more delightful than
an abstruse problem in algebra? You never know along what charming
paths of the mind it will lead you. Moreover there is over it a veil of
mystery. You can't surmise what delightful secrets it will reveal later
on. What will the end be? What a powerful appeal such a question will
always make to a highly intelligent and imaginative mind like mine!
No poetry! No beauty! Why every algebraic problem from the very nature
of its being is surcharged with it! It's like the mystery of life itself,
only in this case we solve the mystery! And if I may change the metaphor,
an algebraic formula is like a magnificent diamond, cutting its way
through the thick and opaque glass, which represents the unknown!
I long for the end of the war for many reasons, but chief among them is
the fact that I may return to the romantic and illimitable fields of the
mathematical problem!"

"I didn't know anyone could ever become dithyrambic about algebra,"
said Dick.

"What's dithyrambic?" asked Pennington.

"Spouting, Frank. But George, as we know, is a queer fellow. They grow
'em in Vermont, where they love