“Well,” says I, “all we can do is wait and ’tend to matters as they come.”
“I ain’t so sure,” says Mark. “You f-f-fellows stay here. I want to go back by the side.”
He went. Motu and I watched the Japanese drag the ladders under the porch and listened to them jabber. Motu understood what they were saying and grinned at me friendly and sort of proud.
“They say, ‘Boys be great warriors some day.’ Also they are saying, ‘We have been told Americans cannot fight, and do not want to fight. We have been told Japan with a little army could win from America with big army; but if the men fight like the boys, it is not so.’ That is good to hear, Tallow. I wish all Japanese could hear it. I wish it because all good Japanese—all men who think—have a great friendship for the United States. We do not like talk of war. We like to think only of peace forever. But some there are who have hot heads—just as you have hotheads in America. They see insults where there are no insults. They blame all America for what one part of America does. It hurts Japanese pride to be treated as we are by California—yet California has reasons. Thinking men know that. So I wish all hotheads might know how great America is and what fighting-men she raises.” Motu stopped a moment and raised his head in a dignified kind of way. “Not,” says he, “that Japan fears good warriors and would make war only on the weak. Russia was not weak, but those who talk war most go to war least. A little fear would make them cautious. So I wish all could know the warrior spirit that sleeps in America, that they might never awake it.”
“Me, too,” says I. “If all Japanese were like you, Motu, I guess there wouldn’t be any row at all.”
Motu smiled. “Not all have the advantage to see America and England and the world that I have. They live at home and their vision is narrow. They cannot understand. But some day I shall teach them.” He caught himself suddenly and looked at me; then he went on as if he would make me think he had said what he didn’t exactly mean: “Some day I will do all a common boy can do to make them know. I will tell many friends.”
“Sure,” says I, but I wasn’t fooled. Right there I was convinced that Motu was pretty important and powerful at home in Japan. You could tell it by the way he spoke when he wasn’t thinking.
All of a sudden Plunk let out a yell.
“Hey!” says he. “Git away from there! Git! I’ll lam you good!” he says.
Motu and I ran around the corner and saw Plunk poking his lance at somebody through the stairway. Just then Mark Tidd came out of the door, rolling a big barrel that he’d found. He frowned at us.