ordinarily reassuring, like the woman who had sufficiently
provisioned with three tins of fruit, a pot of jam and a bag of flour.
They knew a tremendous lot about it and had evidently been reading
military articles for days past. They all showed what was going to be
done, illustrating it on the map. And the map itself was extraordinarily
reassuring: as Twyning showed--his fingers covering the whole of the
belligerent countries--while the Germans were delivering all their power
down _here_, in Belgium, the Russians simply nipped in _here_ and would
be threatening Berlin before those fools knew where they were!

He thought, "By Jove, yes."

"And granted," said Mr. Fortune--Mr. Fortune was granting propositions
right and left with an amiability out of all keeping with his normal
stubbornness--"and granted that Germany can put into the field the
enormous numbers you mention, Twyning, what use are they to her? None.
No use whatever. I was talking last night to Sir James Boulder. His son
has been foreign correspondent to one of the London papers for years.
He's attended the army manoeuvres in Germany, France, Austria
everywhere. He knows modern military conditions through and through, as
you may say. Well, he says--and it's obvious when you think of it--that
Germany can't possibly use her enormous masses. No room for them. Only
the merest fraction can ever get into action. Where they're coming in is
like crowding into the neck of a bottle. Two thirds of them uselessly
jammed up behind. A mere handful can hold them up--"

Harold put in, "Yes, and those terrific fortresses, sir."

"Precisely. Precisely. Liege, Namur, Antwerp--absolutely impregnable,
all the military correspondents say so. Impregnable. Well, then. There
you are. It's like sending a thousand men to fight in a street. Look
here--" He went vigorously to the window. They all went to the window;
Sabre with them, profoundly impressed. Mr. Fortune pointed into the
street. "There. That's what it is. Here comes your German army down this
way from the cathedral. Choked. Blocked. Immovable mob. How many do you
suppose could hold them up? Thirty, twenty, a dozen. Hold them up and
throw them into hopeless and utter disorder. Pah! Simple, isn't it? I
don't suppose the thing will last a month. What do you say, Sabre?"

Sabre was feeling considerably more at ease. He felt that the first
shock of the thing had made him take an exaggerated view. "I don't see
how it can," he s