"Then it was the Germans. They said so," said Gooja Singh. "They said he will lead us against the British."
"The Germans said," said I, "that their armies are outside Paris—that India is in rebellion—that Pertab Singh was hanged in Delhi—that the British rule in India has been altogether selfish—that our wives and children have been butchered by the British in cold blood. The Germans," said I, "have told us very many things."
"Then," said he, "you counsel us to follow Ranjoor Singh?"
"Nay," said I. "I counsel nothing."
"You are a coward!" said he. "You are afraid to give opinion!"
"I am one among many!" I answered him.
They left me alone again and talked in groups, Gooja Singh passing from one group to another like a man collecting tickets. Then, when it was growing dusk, they gathered once more about me and Gooja Singh went through the play of letting them persuade him to be spokesman.
"If we decide to follow Ranjoor Singh," said he, "will you be one with us?"
"If that is the decision of you all," I answered, "then yes. But if it is Gooja Singh's decision with the rest consenting, then no. Is that the decision of you all?" I asked, and they murmured a sort of answer.
"Nay!" said I. "That will not do! Either yes or no. Either ye are willing or ye are unwilling. Let him who is unwilling say so, and I for one will hold no judgment against him."