"
"But," said the other, "how do they manage to shout all together
that way?"
"Oh, they've practiced that, of course."
"You mean--they gather and practice making those noises?"
"Surely."
"They make them in cold blood?"
I laughed. "Well, the blood of youth is seldom entirely cold. They
imagine the victory while they rehearse, no doubt."
When Carpenter spoke again, it was half to himself. "You make your
children into mobs! You train them for it!"
"It really isn't that bad," I replied. "It's all in good
temper--it's their play."
"Yes, yes! But what is play but practice for reality? And how shall
love be learned in savage war-dances?"
They tell us that we have a new generation of young people since the
war; a generation which thinks for itself, and has its own way. I
was an advocate of this idea in the abstract, but I must admit that
I was startled by the concrete case which I now encountered. Bertie
suddenly looked round from his place in the driver's seat. "Say," he
demanded, in a grating voice, "where was that guy raised?"
"Bertie _dear_!" cried his mother.
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