“Tradition,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Why, I don’t know. They’re pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that sort of thing. Life isn’t a process of machinery, exactly. One has to meet it with something more supple and adjustable than traditions.”
“Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn’t you hit him back?”
“Perhaps. It would depend.”
“Or insulted your country? Don’t you believe that men should be ready to die, if necessary, in such a cause?”
“Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They’re paid to.”
“Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn’t you, unless you were paid for it?”
“How can I tell until the occasion arises?”
“Are you afraid?”
“I suppose I might be.”
“Hasn’t the man any blood in his veins?” cried his inquisitor, exasperated. “Haven’t you ever been angry clear through?”