You must think, but think with your own idea, not other people's." Some amused faces were raised while he entered into observations that they foresaw would be endless.
"Pay attention, you fellows, he's going to talk about militarism," announced a wag, called Pinson, whose lively wit I had already noticed.
"There's the question of militarism----" Termite went on.
We laughed to see the hairy mannikin floundering on the dim straw in the middle of his big public-meeting words, and casting fantastic shadows on the spider-web curtain of the skylight.
"Are you going to tell us," asked one of us, "that the Boches aren't militarists ?" "Yes, indeed, and in course they are," Termite consented to admit.
"Ha! That bungs you in the optic!" Pinson hastened to record.
"For my part, old sonny," said a Territorial who was a good soldier, "I'm not seeking as far as you, and I'm not as spiteful.

I know that they set about us, and that we only wanted to be quiet and friends with everybody.

Why, where I come from, for instance in the Creuse country, I know that----" "You know ?" bawled Termite, angrily; "you know nothing about nothing! You're only a poor little tame animal, like all the millions of pals.
They gather us together, but they separate us.

They say what they like to us, or they don't say it, and you believe it.

They say to you, 'This is what you've got to believe in!' They----" I found myself growing privately incensed against Termite, by the same instinct which had once thrown me upon his accomplice Brisbille.