Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/188

WAR it. Now, I can sleep of nights once more. What is it?"

"Patriotism!" say Jon.

"Jonthy, it smells like whisky," says I, "when you get among it. You'll see when we reach town."

But after I thought of it, I was glad that Jon had found something to take the place of love—even if he only imagined it.