"The gratitude of victims," said the objectionable William, "is not legal tender; it is not even a marketable article. Did you ever see the gratitude of victims quoted in the share-lists of the newspapers published by your precious humans? Have you ever seen it advertised for in the columns of that periodical of theirs called Exchange and Mart? You may have seen it advertised for sale there; but there were no answers. Now look at my boy, James—look at him! That's promise, if you like! He's knocking down all the other boys like ninepins."
"Your boy is a Bully," said James.
"Ah! you've discovered it, then? It has at last dawned upon you that I am bound to win. My boy is a Bully. You may as well just hand over that little star out of the saucepan at once, and save further trouble."
"What! Do you mean to tell me," screamed James, rising on the tips of his toes with indignation, "to tell me that a Bully is the sort of person to obtain the highest praises and rewards of his fellow-creatures?"
"I do," said William. "The sort, and the only sort. I'll grant that your beneficent person who does a lot of good to your humans may come in for a good large amount of praises, and also even get a small amount of solid rewards: but the fellow they really love is your Bully."
"How can they love him? Impossible!" said James.
"Then why do the confounded creatures act as though they did? You can only judge of their sanity by their acts—and those disprove it. Let's go on. What's my boy doing now?"
"He is playing with a lot of little toy soldiers," said James. "He is knocking them over with toy cannon. Now he is constructing little toy towns, and setting fire to them."
"And your boy?"
"Is picking up the little soldiers, and trying to bend them straight and set them on their legs again."