Page:Armistice Day.djvu/438

416 Imaginative? Not in the least. He was a farm hand before the war.

(persistently). Still, in his delirium—

(interrupting). He wouldn't rave like a poet. You forget; I have listened to so many others. (He pauses.) You think I am credulous. Perhaps. I neither affirm nor deny. They tell me of these things they call miracles—

(interrupting). And you ask no explanation?

Why must there be one?

There always is.

Yes; generally more miraculous than the miracle itself. (He pauses; then, with solemnity.) When, in the twentieth century, I myself have seen millions of men leaving their peaceful homes, their work, their occupations, to kill one another, I say that is such a dreadful, such an unbelievable miracle that next to it everything else becomes insignificant. If this paperweight were to turn into a roaring lion before my eyes I would say that too was a miracle—but that all of humanity had been witness to a greater! (The first door opens slowly.)

(calling attention to it without alarm). The door is opening again. ( goes to it without a word; closes it.)

(as he does so). You would say