ANDREW. What—the Americans!
THE FIGURE. All but a handful on 'em—them as weren't canines, ye might say, but men. They set a back-fire goin' at Valley Forge. Most on 'em burnt their toes and fingers off, lightin' on't thar in the white frost, but they stuck it through and saved—wall, the prairie-dogs.
ANDREW. But they—those others. What reason did they give to God and their own souls for deserting?
ANDREW. To their consciences. What was their reason? It must have been a noble one in '76. Their reason then; don't you see, I must have it. I must know what reason real heroes gave for their acts. You were there. You can tell me.
THE FIGURE. Real heroes, eh? Look around ye, then. To-day's the heroic age, and the true brand o' hero is al'ays in the market. Look around ye!
ANDREW. What, here—in this war of jobsters, this petty campaign of monstrous boodle?
THE FIGURE. Thar we be!
ANDREW. Why, here are only a lot of cowardly half-men, like me—lovers of their own folks—their wives and babies at home. They'll make sacrifices for them. But real men like our fathers in '76: they looked in the beautiful face of Liberty, and sacrificed to her!
THE FIGURE. Our fathers, my boy, was jest as fond o' poetry as you be. They talked about the beautiful face o' Liberty same's you; but when the hom'made eyes and cheeks of their sweethearts and young uns took to cryin', they desarted their beautiful goddess and skun out hom'.