Their speeches invited my collaboration in a manifesto declaring our detachment from the European quarrel. We were to silence the increasingly aggressive tone of our diplomatic correspondence, to warn the Government of France that it must look for no assistance in a wholly unnecessary war, to detach Russia and eventually leave Servia to pay the penalty of her crimes.
"Her crimes?" I echoed, for my mind was full of Mayhew's grim story of the murders.
"Surely," answered Dillworth. "I'm a Socialist, Mr. Oakleigh, and I'm a Republican, but I flatter myself I've got some little imagination. If you'd seen years of sedition in Afghanistan, if you were told that Afghans had murdered the Prince of Wales as he toured the North-West Frontier Provinces—it's no good shaking your head, sir—you'd call for securities no whit less sweeping than those that Austria is demanding. I've attacked Russia more than once for tyranny, but I never thought I should attack her for supporting political assassination."
I tried to waive causes and concentrate his mind on results.
"Will you acquiesce in the German occupation of Paris and Cherbourg?" I asked.
Rayston plunged his hand into the capacious pocket of his overcoat, produced a sheaf of cuttings and read me extracts from my own articles on Germany as a land of peace and potential friendliness.
"Is that true or is it not?" he demanded.
"I believed it true when I wrote it," I said.
"Has the whole nation changed in a week?" he demanded, flinging out his arms.
"I've changed my opinion of the nation."