I’ll give you a thousand dollars, Senator, for a thousand-word article on the horrors of war. You can’t make it strong enough.
That’s one on you, Senator.
Taney, you’re a man of sense, and you love your country. Now—
Good night, gentlemen, I’m going.
[He turns toward the door.
No, you’re not. I want a list of names. I want a list of all the people who are paying you to shout for war. Understand?
I want that list now.
Hell may grow buttercups, Harradan. But you don’t get any names out o’ me.
Besides, I ain’t got any to give. And I’ll have you up for defamation of character for saying that there’s anybody can buy me!
[After a pause, quietly.
Taney, you’ve always been a business-man. You look at things just one way. You aren’t bothered much by imagination. Perhaps you don’t know what you’re doing. War, man! Dead men by thousands, wounded men shrieking for some one to put them out of their misery, fire, ruin, starvation! For what good, for what good, ever?
I raise my offer, Senator. Make it two thousand.
You ought to go into vaudeville, Senator. Subject, “The Horrors of War.”
[The others laugh.
God, the country stands on the verge of the greatest calamity in its history and you can’t do anything but laugh!
You’re an inspiration, Senator. Just like that dago or Dutchman or whoever he was who tried to smash up the windmills. But you haven’t a sense of humor.
[With quiet dignity.
No. My sense of humor died during our last war. Will you give me those names that are going to help me kill this satanic craving for war? Are you?
You’re talking through your hat, Senator. I don’t know anything about any names.