At times it was
but two men speaking to one another in whispers, at others every creaking
bed would be drawn into the argument.
One topic that never lost its interest was: Who made wars? Who hounded
the people into them, and kept them there, tearing at one another's
throats? They never settled it.
"God knows I didn't want it, speaking personally," said a German prisoner
one day, with a laugh. "I had been working at a printing business
sixteen hours a day for seven years. It was just beginning to pay me,
and now my wife writes me that she has had to shut the place up and sell
the machinery to keep them all from starving."
"But couldn't you have done anything to stop it?" demanded a Frenchman,
lying next to him. "All your millions of Socialists, what were they up
to? What went wrong with the Internationale, the Universal Brotherhood
of Labour, and all that Tra-la-la?"
The German laughed again. "Oh, they know their business," he answered.
"You have your glass of beer and go to bed, and when you wake up in the
morning you find that war has been declared; and you keep your mouth
shut--unless you want to be shot for a traitor.
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