"Yes," I said.

"We're eatable ants."

We sat looking at each other.

"And what will they do with us?" I said.

"That's what I've been thinking," he said; "that's what I've been
thinking.  After Weybridge I went south--thinking.  I saw what was up.
Most of the people were hard at it squealing and exciting themselves.
But I'm not so fond of squealing.  I've been in sight of death once or
twice; I'm not an ornamental soldier, and at the best and worst,
death--it's just death.  And it's the man that keeps on thinking comes
through.  I saw everyone tracking away south.  Says I, 'Food won't
last this way,' and I turned right back.  I went for the Martians like
a sparrow goes for man.  All round"--he waved a hand to the
horizon--"they're starving in heaps, bolting, treading on each other.
. . ."