Steve Chapman turned from Chapel Street into the quieter thoroughfare, metaphorically speaking, on two wheels, bounded up the steps of the fourth house in the row, took the first flight of stairs on high, raced along the corridor, skidded a bit at the last portal on the right and, finally, setting all brakes, came to a standstill in the centre of the floor, while, as the door swung back against the wall, every picture in the study jarred askew. “War’s begun!” he announced breathlessly. “President Wilson has signed! We’re in it at last, Joe!”…
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