Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - II - V
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you had no men fit to fight anything but
niggers, and at your bidding forth comes a
whole army of polo players, clerks, and
schoolboys, smilingly playing the game of life and
death on the fields of Belgium and France as
coolly as though playing a game of football or
a cricket match on the lawns of their club at
home! But, mark my words, it is their last
game they are playing, these smiling
youngsters in their ugly, dirty-brown khaki, who
have the impudence to go on smiling even
when face to face with the veterans of the
Prussian Guard. Yes, it is brown now, their
famous khaki, but we will see to it that it
will be dyed red before long!
“Listen to the voice of the poet! Listen
to our great Lissauer, whose Hymn of Hate
is sung in thousands of homes in the
Fatherland to-day, and is recited in the schools by
our children!”
“Fine!” said the Doctor, “I like it very
much. I know it well; I have often heard
it sung in the London music halls.
“I have listened to your eloquent speech
with great interest, Count Rumpelmayer,”
the Doctor went on. “I take for granted
that you know Germany well, and that it is
the true feeling of your country you have
laid before me. But when you speak of
England’s feeling towards Germany, I believe
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