"Lem," said the blacksmith, "you've been mad ever since the war."

"Wal, ain't I got a right to be? Here I was just a young feller and
hated slavery and loved liberty, and I was one of the first to
volunteer. Yes, sir, I went right into Petersburg when Cap Estil was
recruitin' and joined the army and me not more'n seventeen, and all
because I wanted to help free the country and put down rebellion, and
serve God. Yes, that's what a boy says to hisself, 'God and my country.'
You get into kind of a religion. Wal, what happened? They treat a
soldier worse'n a dog--they feed you like a dog and sleep you like a
dog. And they order you in danger worse'n a dog. What in hell are you,
anyway? Here you are, we'll say, with a couple of hundred, and the
captain thinks that by sacrificing a couple of hundred, he can do
somethin', turn a certain trick. It's like checkers, you make a
sacrifice to get into the king's row and come back stronger and clean up
the board. That's how I got it. They ordered us in when it was death to
go, and I got it through the lung, and here I am, no good to this here
day."

"Lem," says the blacksmith, "you talk like a democrat."

[Illustration: Like a Piece of Licorice]

"Wal, I ain't no democrat. I ain't nothin'. How can a man be anything?
Look at what they did. Look at the way the stay-at-homes made money.
Look at the grabs in the country, look at the money scandals, look at
the poor, look at the fellers goin' around in the name of the army
gettin' themselves elected to office. Just look at the country. Look at
me with just enough pension to keep body and soul together, and tryin'
to grub out a little farm. Why, look here, if the next generation knew
what we know about war, how they get it up, and how they get the young
fellers into it, and what it means after they get into it, you couldn't
get 'em into a war. That's the way to stop war. Pass the word along, so
the young fellers that can fight will know what they're a takin' a hold
of--and they won't fight. You can't burn a child that knows the fire.
These here pot-bellies that sit in banks, and these here loud-mouthed
orators that make speeches and say they wished they could go to war,
it's their only regret that they can't go, and die with the flag in
their hands--these fellers, damn 'em, can't make any headway if the boys
are on to the game. And, by God, furst thing you know they ain't anybody
to do the fightin' but the pot-bellies and the orato