Maulud, who had sat fidgeting through our long, slow talk, could no longer restrain himself and cried out, “Don’t write a history of us. The needful thing is to fight and fight and kill them. Give me a battery of Schneider mountain guns, and machine guns, and I will finish this off for you. We talk and talk and do nothing.” I replied as warmly; and Maulud, a magnificent fighter, who regarded a battle won as a battle wasted if he did not show some wound to prove his part in it, took me up. We wrangled while Feisal sat by and grinned delightedly at us.