They walked along for a bit in silence, Jimmie trying to assimilate these ideas. They were new--not in the sense that he had not heard them before, but in the sense that he had not heard them from a German. “How does your father feel?” he asked at last. “He hasn't changed,” replied the other. “And that makes it pretty hard--it's all we can do to keep from quarrelling. He's old, and new ideas don't come to him easily. Yet you'd think he'd be the first to see it--his father was one of the old revolutionists, he was put in jail in Dresden. I don't suppose you know much about the history of Germany.” “No,” said Jimmie. “Well, in those days the German people tried to get free, and they were put down by the troops, and the real revolutionists were driven into exile. Some of them came over here--like my grandfather. But, you see, their children have forgotten about their wrongs--they look back on Germany now, and think of it sentimentally, as it's pictured in the stories and songs--a sort of Christmas-tree Germany. They don't know about the Germany that's grown up--the Germany of iron and coal kings, that combines all the cruelty of feudalism with modern efficiency and science--the Beast with the Brains of an Engineer!” They walked on, Emil lost in thought. “You know,” he broke out, suddenly, “this war has been a revelation to me--the most horrible you could imagine. It's as if you loved a woman, and saw her go insane before your eyes, or turn into some sort of degenerate. For I believed in the Christmas-tree Germany; I loved it, and I argued for it, I just couldn't bring myself to believe what I read in the papers. Now I look back, and it seems like a trap that the German war-lords had set for my mind--reaching way over here into America, and making me think what they wanted me to! Perhaps I've gone to the other extreme--I find I distrust everything that's German. Father accused me of it last night; he was singing an old German song that says that when you hear men singing you may lie down in peace, for bad men have no songs. And I reminded him that the nation which taught that idea had marched into Belgium singing!” “Gee!” exclaimed Jimmie. He could imagine how old Hermann Forster had taken that remark! The young carpet-designer smiled, rather sadly. “He says it's because I've put on khaki. But the truth is, I'd been full of these thoughts, and all at once they came to a head. I was drafted, and I had to make up my mind one way or the other. I decided I'd fight--and then, when I'd decided, I wanted to get into it right away.” Emil paused, and looked at his friend and asked, “What about you?”