"Soldier? I 've seen a good many great soldiers—and I only saw one man in the whole war that I 'd take off my hat to, now."
"Who was that? General Grant?"
"Abraham Lincoln." He leaned forward impressively. "All the generals that ever lived did n't come knee-high to him. I was n't old enough to appreciate him then. I don't know whether I ever will he old enough to appreciate him all. But I tell you, young man, if you want to see war as it is, learn to see it the way he saw it—if you ever can. We were like a lot of quarreling children beside him. War? Glory? Heroism? If you want to know about what they amount to, get a good war-time photograph of Lincoln and look into his eyes. Into his eyes!" His lips quivered with some unacknowledged emotion. He looked down at his plate.
"Now, Daddy," his daughter put in quickly. "You 've talked enough. Eat your dinner. I 'll entertain the lieutenant."
Price turned to her, flattered. When she looked at him, it was rather absent-mindedly. There was an unguarded expression of appraisal in her eyes. As a plebe at West Point he had noticed something of the same look in another girl—when she first saw him out of his cadet uniform.
He puzzled over it. Before they rose from the table he knew what it meant. He showed the knowledge in the stiffer set of his shoulders and the more determined poise of his chin as he followed her out
