isers, the last word in maritime mobility, of what avail is
loyal devotion plus half-a-dozen warships, one keel to ten, scattered
over one or two ocean coasts?"

"Ah, but they'll build," said the fisherman confidently; "they'll build.
They're only waiting to enlarge their dockyard accommodation and get the
right class of artificers and engineers and workmen together. The money
will be forthcoming somehow, and they'll start in and build."

"And do you suppose," asked Yeovil in slow bitter contempt, "that the
victorious nation is going to sit and watch and wait till the defeated
foe has created a new war fleet, big enough to drive it from the seas? Do
you suppose it is going to watch keel added to keel, gun to gun, airship
to airship, till its preponderance has been wiped out or even threatened?
That sort of thing is done once in a generation, not twice. Who is going
to protect Australia or New Zealand while they enlarge their dockyards
and hangars and build their dreadnoughts and their airships?"

"Here's my station and I'm not sorry," said the fisherman, gathering his
tackle together and rising to depart; "I've listened to you long enough.
You and me wouldn't agree, not if we was to talk all day. Fact is, I'm
an out-and-out patriot and you're only a half-hearted one. That's what
you are, half-hearted."

And with that parting shot he left the carriage and lounged heavily down
the platform, a patriot who had never handled a rifle or mounted a horse
or pulled an oar, but who had never flinched from demolishing his
country's enemies with his tongue.

"England has never had any lack of patriots of that type," thought Yeovil
sadly; "so many patriots and so little patriotism."

CHAPTER XIII: TORYWOOD

Yeovil got out of the train at a small, clean, wayside station, and
rapidly formed the conclusion that neatness, abundant leisure, and a
devotion to the cultivation of wallflowers and wyandottes were the
prevailing influences of the station-master's life. The train slid away
into the hazy distance of trees and meadows, and left the traveller
standing in a world that seemed to be made up in equal parts of rock
garden, chicken coops, and whiskey advertisements. The station-master,
who appeared also to act as emergency porter, took Yeovil's ticket with
the gesture of a kind-hearted person brushing away a troublesome wasp,
and returned to a study of the Poultry Chronicle, which was giving its
readers sage counse