He did not grasp the meaning behind the words, and he said to him: "Oh, a good salary--as good as that of a general, with a commission and the spoils of war! That's the thing in the French army that counts for so much--spoils of war.

When they're out on a country like this, they let their officers loose--their officers and men.

Did you ever hear tell of a French army being pinched for fodder, or going thirsty for drink, or losing its head for poverty or indigence ?" "No, I never did." "Well, then, take the advice of an officer of the French army resident now in Dublin," continued Boyne, laughing, "who has the honour of being received as the friend of Mr.Dyck Calhoun of Playmore! Take your hand in the game that's going on! For a man as young as you, with brains and ambition, there's no height he mightn't reach in this country.

Think of it--Ireland free from English control; Ireland, with all her dreams, living her own life, fearless, independent, as it was in days of yore.
Why, what's to prevent you, Dyck Calhoun, from being president of the Irish Republic?
You have brains, looks, skill, and a wonderful tongue.
None but a young man could take on the job, for it will require boldness, skill, and the recklessness of perfect courage.

Isn't it good enough for you ?" "What's the way to do it ?" asked Dyck, still holding on to his old self grimly.