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I'm amazed at you!"
"Gentlemen don't work!" persisted Malcolm. "Mother said so!"
"I'm sorry to contradict your mother, but she forgot something," said Mr.
Tower. "If the world has any gentlemen it surely should be those born for
generations of royal and titled blood, and reared from their cradles in
every tradition of their rank. Europe is full of them, and many are superb
men. I know a few. Now will you tell me where they are to-day? They are
down in trenches six feet under ground, shivering in mud and water, half
dead for sleep, food, and rest, trying to save the land of their birth,
the homes they own, to protect the women and children they love. They are
marching miles, being shot down in cavalry rushes, and blown up in boats
they are manning, in their fight to save their countries. _Gentlemen don't
work!_ You are too much of an idiot to talk with, if you don't know how
gentlemen of birth, rank and by nature are working this very day."
The descent on him was precipitate and tumultuous.
"The war!" shouted both boys in chorus.


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