[Illustration: Like a Piece of Licorice] "Wal, I ain't no democrat. I ain't nothin'. How can a man be anything? Look at what they did. Look at the way the stay-at-homes made money. Look at the grabs in the country, look at the money scandals, look at the poor, look at the fellers goin' around in the name of the army gettin' themselves elected to office. Just look at the country. Look at me with just enough pension to keep body and soul together, and tryin' to grub out a little farm. Why, look here, if the next generation knew what we know about war, how they get it up, and how they get the young fellers into it, and what it means after they get into it, you couldn't get 'em into a war. That's the way to stop war. Pass the word along, so the young fellers that can fight will know what they're a takin' a hold of--and they won't fight. You can't burn a child that knows the fire. These here pot-bellies that sit in banks, and these here loud-mouthed orators that make speeches and say they wished they could go to war, it's their only regret that they can't go, and die with the flag in their hands--these fellers, damn 'em, can't make any headway if the boys are on to the game. And, by God, furst thing you know they ain't anybody to do the fightin' but the pot-bellies and the orators who want to die but are too old to carry a gun, and so go around lamentin' their age, the furst thing you know, nobody is left but 'em to fight. And then there won't be no war, because they wouldn't fight. They are too careful of their precious selves, and too afraid of hell, and have got over believin' in God, or country, except the price of corn and cotton, and so that ends war. And that's the way to end it, pass the word along." So he went on talkin' and the blacksmith was makin' a rod and he took it out of the forge and put it on the anvil and it sputtered sparks, and he pounded it around, and finally he took a chisel and cut off a piece, and I watched it grow from dull red till it got black and looked like a piece of licorice. So I went and picked it up. Gee! but it just cooked my fingers, and I yelled. "Thar's your lesson," says Lem--"remember it. Don't take hold of a hot thing till it gets cold. Thar's your lesson, remember that as long as you live." But I was cryin' and my grandpa came in and when he heard Lem talk, he said Lem had been drinkin', poor feller, and was another victim of the awful curse of drink. So he took me to the drug store and got somethin', and by and by I was better and so we drove home to the farm. CHAPTER XVII