Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog
CHAPTER I. LEAVING HOME. One pleasant October evening, Arthur Hamilton was at play in front of the small, brown cottage in which he lived. He and his brother James, were having a great frolic with a large spotted dog, who was performing a great variety of antics, such as only well-educated dogs understand. But Rover had been carefully initiated into the mysteries of making a bow while standing on his hind legs, tossing pieces of bread off his nose, putting up his fore-paws with a most imploring look, and piteous whine, which the boys called "begging for money," and when a chip had been given him, he uttered a most energetic bow-wow-wow, which they regarded as equivalent to "thank you, sir," and walked off. While they were thus amusing themselves, their mother was sitting on the rude piazza which ran along the front of the cottage, now looking at the merry children, and then thoughtfully gazing at the long shadows which were stretching across the road. Mrs. Hamilton was a woman of wonderful strength, and energy, both of body and mind; and she had been sustained
decisive because she had not yet used them. That stage we are reaching
now--Britain's resources measured against those of Germany. We have the
advantage in entering it. The danger is that while we squander our
wealth without organisation, the German, by bringing all his brains and
resolution to bear on the problem, may so eke out his strained resources
as to outstay our rich ones.
One sees not the least sign that the British people understand this. I
do not know how it is in Australia, but in Britain life runs its normal
course. Gigantic sums flow away daily, and the only efforts at economy
one hears of are a Daylight Saving Act adopted only because Germany
adopted it first; a list of prohibited imports and petty economies,
which we mistook when first we read it for an elaborate satire; and a
pious hope, in the true voluntary and official British style, that meat
would be shunned on two days in the week.
By way of contrast there are dished out for our encouragement reports of
all the pains which the Germans are put to to economise food in their
country. Potatoes instead of flour, meat twice a week, food strictly
regulated by ticket, children taught to count between each mouthful in
order to avoid over-eating. We are supposed to draw comfort from this
contrast.
It is the most depressing literature we have. The obvious comment is,
"Well, there is a nation organised to win a war--that is the sort of
nation which the men in the opposite trenches have behind them. A nation
CHAPTER I. LEAVING HOME. One pleasant October evening, Arthur Hamilton was at play in front of the small, brown cottage in which he lived. He and his brother James, were having a great frolic with a large spotted dog, who was performing a great variety of antics, such as only well-educated dogs understand. But Rover had been carefully initiated into the mysteries of making a bow while standing on his hind legs, tossing pieces of bread off his nose, putting up his fore-paws with a most imploring look, and piteous whine, which the boys called "begging for money," and when a chip had been given him, he uttered a most energetic bow-wow-wow, which they regarded as equivalent to "thank you, sir," and walked off. While they were thus amusing themselves, their mother was sitting on the rude piazza which ran along the front of the cottage, now looking at the merry children, and then thoughtfully gazing at the long shadows which were stretching across the road. Mrs. Hamilton was a woman of wonderful strength, and energy, both of body and mind; and she had been sustained