I + 

“This,” said Mr. Ward, “means war.” He looked very seriously across the dining-room table at his wife and daughter. On the shining damask cloth at his elbow several copies of the evening papers flaunted their thick black headlines. Jane could see them from where she sat. “U.S. Battleship Maine Blown Up in Havana Harbor.” “Three Hundred and Five Men Killed or Injured.” “President McKinley Demands Inquiry.” + 

Jane looked at her father very solemnly. + 

“War,” thought Jane. It was somehow unthinkable. War couldn’t be visualized in that quiet candlelit room. No one said anything more. The hoarse, raucous voices of newsboys, crying the last extras on the disaster, punctuated the silence. Jane could hear them blocks away, echoing across the silent city. Newsboys were crying extras like that, thought Jane, in every large city in the world. In New York and London and Berlin and Paris⁠—Paris where André might hear them⁠—newsboys were shouting “U.S. battleship Maine blown up in Havana harbor.” War with Spain. War⁠—after, her father had just said, thirty-three long years of peace. + 

“I think,” said Mrs. Ward finally, “that someone will do something. There will never be another war between civilized people.” + 

“The Spaniards aren’t civilized,” said Mr. Ward. “Their Cuban atrocities have proved that.” + 

“They’re a very powerful nation,” said Mrs. Ward. + 

“They’re a very tricky one,” said her husband. “But we’ll free Cuba if it takes every young man in America.” + 

“I hope,” said Mrs. Ward severely, “you won’t talk that way to Robin. I think a married man, with a child, should not be encouraged to think that his duty lies away from his home.” + 

“Robin,” said Mr. Ward calmly, “is the best judge of his own duty.” + 

“John,” said Mrs. Ward excitedly, “Isabel isn’t strong. If she were left with that baby⁠—” + 

“Isabel,” said Mr. Ward, “will have to take her chance with the rest of us.” Then he paused a moment and considered his wife’s worried face. “We’re a long way from enlistments yet, Lizzie.” + 

“And of course,” said Mrs. Ward hopefully, “the bachelors will all go first.” + 

“The bachelors,” thought Jane. Would she live to see young men marching out heroically behind the colours to fight the Spaniards⁠—to kill⁠—and be killed⁠—over Cuba⁠—which meant nothing to them⁠—and less to her. Would she live to see⁠—perhaps⁠—Stephen⁠— + 

“No one will go for months,” said Mr. Ward. “Congress will talk about this inquiry ’til there isn’t an insurrectionist alive in Cuba.” + 

Jane sincerely hoped that Congress would. She didn’t care at all about the insurrectionists. She was going over to Muriel’s that evening to play egg football, around the dining-room table. Muriel loved egg football. Stephen and Jane thought it was very funny to see her pretty face grow red and distended in her frantic efforts to blow the eggshell over the line. Jane’s mother and Isabel thought that she ought to give it up now. They said it wasn’t quite prudent, with the baby coming. Jane had no opinion on that. It would be an amusing party. Jane rose from her chair. + 

“Can Minnie walk over with me?” she said. The February night was mild. + 

Mrs. Ward nodded. The cries of the newsboys had died down in the distance. Mr. Ward had picked up his papers. The game of egg football seemed much nearer than war. + 