“War!” said Jelf. “Of all the insane and senseless things in the world war is the worst. Two fellows quarrel, or two nations quarrel, and by way of finding out which of them is right they hit each other till one goes down. Then the other stamps on him, and everyone goes to a thanksgiving service in church because God has been on his side. Don’t know what the fellow who is stamped on does. Probably he goes to Hell. It must be jolly puzzling to have two nations or more all on their knees fervently praying for absolutely opposite things, especially if you have promised to grant prayers addressed to you. He ought to have thought of that before He promised.”
“O Lor’!” said Robin.
“It’s no use saying ‘O Lor’.’ You fellows hate anything that makes you think, because you can’t think. I’ve told you that before.”
“I know; that’s what makes it tedious,” said Robin.
“Well, I find you tedious, too,” said Jelf. “I hate the English. They’re a mixture of sentiment and sport. They can’t think. But do be serious a minute and try to think. Germany and Russia are at war now. Everything good has come from Germany, beer and Bach and Beethoven and Christmas trees, except what has come out of Russia, which is Tolstoi and Turgeniev and Nijinski and Pavlova. And now they’re fighting because of a rotten little dung-heap called Serbia. France might as well go to war on behalf of Monte Carlo. What’s the good of the little nations, anyway? They ought to belong to somebody else.”
Robin had taken up an illustrated magazine, and was playing noughts and crosses on the back of it with Jim. But the lack of attention on the part of his audience never discomposed Jelf.
“And now as like as not France and we will have to join in,” he went on, “and there you’ll have all the civilized nations of Europe killing each other on account of a little rotten country that neither of you could find on a map. Germany has already threatened to march through Belgium to get at France, and Belgium—another rotten little country—has appealed to England.”
“Oh, when did that happen?” asked Jim. “Two to you, Birds.”
“To-day. It was on the tape down at the ‘Union.’ Not that anybody cared, except Mackenzie, who sees a future for his aeroplane engine.”
“Why?”