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           "PetertheHermitbiddingfarewelltoCardinalRichelieu,"suggestedAlec,whowaslounginginthewindow-seatasBurneandAmoryshookhands.

           ButAmorywasnotinamoodforthat,andashesawBurne’slonglegspropelhisridiculousbicycleoutofsightbeyondAlexanderHall,heknewhewasgoingtohaveabadweek.Notthathedoubtedthewar—Germanystoodforeverythingrepugnanttohim;formaterialismandthedirectionoftremendouslicentiousforce;itwasjustthatBurne’sfacestayedinhismemoryandhewassickofthehysteriahewasbeginningtohear.

           "WhatonearthistheuseofsuddenlyrunningdownGoethe,"hedeclaredtoAlecandTom."Whywritebookstoprovehestartedthewar—orthatthatstupid,overestimatedSchillerisademonindisguise?"

           "Haveyoueverreadanythingoftheirs?"askedTomshrewdly.

           "No,"Amoryadmitted.

           "NeitherhaveI,"hesaidlaughing.

           "Peoplewillshout,"saidAlecquietly,"butGoethe’sonhissameoldshelfinthelibrary—toboreanyonethatwantstoreadhim!"

           Amorysubsided,andthesubjectdropped.

           "Whatareyougoingtodo,Amory?"

           "Infantryoraviation,Ican’tmakeupmymind—Ihatemechanics,butthenofcourseaviation’sthethingforme—"

           "IfeelasAmorydoes,"saidTom."Infantryoraviation—aviationsoundsliketheromanticsideofthewar,ofcourse—likecavalryusedtobe,youknow;butlikeAmoryIdon’tknowahorse-powerfromapiston-rod."