As the crowd of young fellows came trooping into the office, old Peterson, who alone had kept at his books, looked up with a reproof upon his lips.
"What do you fellows think this is, a business office or an athletic club?" he demanded.
But the querulous look and tone vanished when he had heard the story of Oliver's rescue, and as he turned to his books again the old veteran of many battlefields muttered to himself:
"The old American stuff is in the boys yet. If he's the kind that Uncle Sam is going to send to the trenches, Heaven help the Kaiser!"
Three weeks went by, weeks of stern resolve and feverish expectation. It was becoming evident now to every mind that America could not, if she would, keep out of the war except at the expense of national honor.
Every day brought its toll of sinking ships and murdered crews, of wanton brutality and flagrant disregard of plighted faith. The whole world was sickening of the German name.
The city of Camport felt the quickening thrill that was running through the continent from coast to coast. War was the universal topic. In the shop, in the street, in the church, in the courthouse, the one prevailing subject was war.
The mad dog of Europe was running wild, and it was up to America to join with all the rest of the civilized world in putting an end to his depredations.
The Thirty-seventh had come back to Camport from the Mexican border, the men hard as nails, sound as nuts, brown as berries, eager and ardent for the tremendous task before them, and as the regiment swung through the streets, headed by the band, keeping step to the strain of martial airs, the little city went wild with enthusiasm.
"There's no use, Frank," said Bart, as with the other young fellows of the place they thronged the windows to see the regiment go by. "I'm going to join."
"Same here," said Frank. "I can feel Uncle Sam's hand on my shoulder this minute."
"We're coming father Abraham, one hundred thousand strong!" sang out Reddy, from his place on a stool behind them where he had perched himself so as to be able to look over their heads.
Just then Billy Waldon passed in the ranks and looked up at them with a cheerful grin.
"There's Billy!" cried Tom. "Oh, boy! wouldn't I like to be marching alongside of him!"
"Let's go around to the armory this very night, Frank, and give in our names!" cried Bart. "I tell you, this thing's got me, got me bad."
"It's got me just as bad," said Frank, "and the only question is, in just what branch of the service I'm going to enlist when the President calls for troops. I want to see action and see it quick, and I have the idea that perhaps the regular army boys will get into the trenches sooner than the national guard. I'll talk it over with my mother to-day and then I'll decide."
By the time the noon hour arrived the parade was over, and Frank, with his heart and mind full of the stirring scenes he had witnessed, went home to lunch.
It was only when the modest little house came into view that his thoughts took a more sober turn and his step slowed a little. Up to now he had been thinking chiefly of himself. He was like a hound straining at the leash. Every instinct in him clamored to be in the very thick and front of the coming fight.
But there was his mother, his mother, whose eyes had grown larger and more wistful of late as every day had brought nearer and nearer the conflict that was about to claim her only son. He was all that she had, her one strong support and sure refuge and loving comrade.
What would she do, alone and anguished in this quiet home while he was battling at the front in a rain of shells, of poison gas, of liquid fire?
But he must not sadden her by carrying into the house this shadow of coming events that for the moment had flung itself over him, and he assumed a gaiety that he did not feel as he ran lightly up the steps where she, as usual, stood waiting for him in the open door.
She on her part had hidden her heartache beneath a mask of vivacity. It was a loving deception where each knew that the other was trying to deceive and failing in the attempt.
"Well," she asked, cheerily, as they sat down to the tasteful meal she had prepared for him, "what is the news in the city to-day? It seems to me that I have heard nothing but band music all morning."
"I guess the band didn't leave anything out," said Frank with a smile. "They played through the whole list of national airs from the "Star Spangled Banner" to "Dixie."
"But I heard something else too," went on his mother. "What was it the newsboys were crying through the streets?"
"Oh it was an extra of some kind," said Frank, evasively.
"But of what kind?" asked his mother with a gentle persistence.
"Why, it was about the President's speech," said Frank, reluctantly. "He's expected to address the Senate this afternoon, and everybody is eager to know what he will have to say."
"I can guess what it will be," said his mother, sadly.
"Yes," agreed Frank, "There's no use blinking the facts, little Mother. He's going to declare that the United States is at war with Germany. And high time, too!" he burst out, his pent-up convictions finding voice. "We've been patient, Mother, till patience becomes a fault. We've waited and hoped and written and argued, and all the while Germany has been growing more vile and brutal. Any further patience would be cowardice. And that's one thing that, with all its faults, our country has never been guilty of. It's up to us now, Mother, every one of us," and he emphasized the words, "to show that we're worthy to be called Americans."
"Yes," faltered his mother, "I suppose it is—in my heart I know it is. But oh, my boy! my boy! how can I let you go?"
"It's duty, Mother," said Frank, gently. "It isn't a question of choice. I must go. My country needs me, and I know my mother well enough to be sure she would be the last one in the world to hold me back."
Before his mother could reply there was a commotion in the street outside. They looked at each other inquiringly and then rose from the table and hurried to the window.
Most of the houses in Camport had been decorated with Old Glory in honor of the return of the favorite regiment. Frank had seen to it early in the morning that his own flag had swung from a pole set in the upper window.
Through the whole length of the street there was not a house that did not show from some point of vantage the Stars and Stripes.
The house directly opposite Frank's had gone even further. Upon one of the pillars of the porch had been deftly grouped the flags of France and England with Old Glory in the center. It was a type of the alliance that bound together or was soon to bind three of the great nations that were to fight side by side the battle of civilization against barbarism.
Before the house where these emblems were displayed, a little knot of people were arguing and gesticulating. One of them, a burly fellow, had a face that bore the German stamp. He was greatly excited and his arms were waving like windmills as he pointed at the three flags that seemed to have stirred him to anger.
Suddenly, in a fit of rage, he broke away from the group, ran up the walk to the house, grabbed the offending colors from the pillar of the porch and threw them to the ground where he stamped upon them.
Mrs. Sheldon gasped.
With a bound Frank reached the door, flung it open and rushed across the street. The fellow who had vented his rage on the flags looked up. He saw Frank coming, and the sight of that flying figure, with taut muscles and blazing eyes was not reassuring.
He ran down the walk in an effort to escape. Frank met him at the gate. Like a flash Frank's fist shot out and the vandal measured his length on the ground.
A crowd rose magically from nowhere. People came running, shouting, jostling, demanding an explanation from their neighbors, who, in turn, demanded it of them.
"It's Frank Sheldon!" shouted someone, above the uproar.
"He's making hash of a Hun!" yelled another. "Come on and see the show, fellows—admission free!"
Through all this confusion, Bart, who had been on his way back to the office when attracted by the hubbub, pushed and elbowed his way through to the first line of observers.
"What's the row, Frank?" he yelled. "Stop kneeling on that fellow's neck and tell us about it. Look out!" as the fellow made a quick move as though to wrench himself free from Frank's grasp. "Don't let him put one over on you."
"Don't worry!" Frank's face was grim as he rose to his feet dragging the now thoroughly cowed German after him. "There's not a Hun in this country or the old that'll be able to get away from me once I get my hands on him—not after this day's work. Do you know what he did?" He gave his captive a ferocious shake and glared about at the still-increasing mob. "Do you know what this yellow dog did, right here in the country that's made him?"
"No, give it to us," shouted someone in the crowd, and the rest took it up impatiently.
"Yes, give it to us, Sheldon," they cried. "Get to the point!"
"Look at those flags," Frank cried in answer, pointing with quivering finger to the sullied emblems that lay in the dust where the German had left them. "Those are the flags of liberty, justice and right, and this dog," his fingers tightened in the man's collar till the craven cried out with the pain of it, "dragged them down, threw them in the dust, stamped upon them—stamped upon them, fellows! And our flag, Old Glory, is among them! Do you hear that? Old Glory is among them!"
An ominous growl went up from the crowd which had been listening breathlessly and with growing indignation to Frank's words, and now it surged threateningly forward.
"What are we going to do with him?" cried Frank, his eyes afire. "What would you do with a cur like this?"
"Tar and feather him!" cried someone, and a score of voices took it up.
"Tar and feather him! tar and feather him!"
"Ride him out of town on a rail!"
"Aw, that's too easy," yelled another, making a megaphone of his hands so that his voice soared above even that deafening babel. "I've got a good tough rope, fellows, tough enough even for this hog here. What do you say?"
"Lynch him! lynch him!" the cry arose deafeningly and the crowd surged forward once more closing in upon Frank and his quivering, terrified captive.
"Out of the way, Sheldon!"
"Let's get at him!"
"Oh, mein Gott!" wailed the German, sinking on his knees and gazing up at Frank with terror-stricken face. "You will not let dem murder me—like dis—in gold blood—you will not—"
"There's not much cold blood about this," said Frank, with a glint in his eye and another tightening of his fingers. "However, we'll let you live a little while yet. You're not fit to die."
"Lynch him! lynch him!" the cry still rose menacingly. The crowd was becoming impatient.
"Wait a minute;" shouted Frank, straightening himself to his full height and holding up his hand compellingly. "We're not going to lynch this man. We're going to punish him worse than that."
The German's face, which had grown hopeful at the beginning of Frank's speech, resumed its terrified expression and he sank back despairingly.
The shouts and cries of the crowd had settled down now to a muttering, murmuring, undertone so that Frank's voice rose clear and determined above it.
"First of all," he said, while the crowd surged forward in mingled disappointment and eagerness, "he's going to pick up the flags he has dared insult, dust them off carefully and restore them to their former position."
The crowd shouted its delight at the suggestion, while the German's face grew sullen and he looked stolidly at the ground.
"I vill not do it," he muttered.
"What's that?" queried Frank politely, while his knuckles dug deep into his captive's neck. "I'm afraid I didn't quite understand you. If you will repeat—"
"I said I vould not do it," cried the German, with a sudden flare up of his old rage and hatred. "Und vat I say I mean."
"But I'm sure you will change your mind," Frank answered still gently, while the crowd watched eagerly. "Within the next minute I am almost sure you are going to pick up the flags, dust them off neatly and put them back where you found them. If a little pressure is needed, why, I am always willing to oblige."
A sharp twist of the collar he held brought a guttural cry of pain from the Prussian and a crow of delight from the crowd.
"More yet?" queried Frank with another twist that brought the man to his knees whimpering. "Or will you do what I suggested?"
"I will do it," growled the German, hatred and pain in the glance he flung his captor. "Led me go und I vill do it."
"Good," said Frank. "I'll let you do it but I won't let you go. I love you too much. Right this way."
The crowd gave way before the advance of captor and captive, and before them all the German was forced to pick up the flags, dust them to the entire satisfaction of his gleeful audience, and, with Frank's knuckles still urging him on, replace them to the best of his clumsy ability as he had found them.
With the flags of the triple alliance floating once more proudly in the breeze, the throng sent up a mighty shout. Hats were thrown in the air and cries were heard.
"That's Old Glory for you! The more they try to down her the higher up she flies!"
"That's what the whole German nation's going to do when we get our boys over there!"
"We'll make 'em tremble in their boots!"
"And now," cried Frank, "our German friend will stand at salute and sing the Star Spangled Banner with all the expression I know his love for our country will prompt."
The German balked again but under the same gentle pressure as before sang in husky tones and guttural accents the stirring measures of our national hymn.
"And last of all," shouted Frank, while the throng, wild with delight, surged forward once more, "our dear enemy will, with all the reverence due the greatest flag in the world, kneel here in the dust and kiss the Stars and Stripes. Now then, kneel."
"I vill not," cried the German, trying to wrench himself free. "You cannot force me—"
"We'll see about that," said Frank, while the crowd grew threatening once more. "Will you do it—or shall I make you?"
"I will not do it," the Prussian reiterated stubbornly. "I have done all the rest but dat I vill not."
"Kiss the flag," cried Frank, now thoroughly aroused, his knuckles showing white as they gripped his captive's collar. "Come on—we're waiting."
Slowly and relentlessly he forced the German to his knees, and driven by pain and fear of the mob his captive finally touched his lips to the flag.
"And now," cried Frank, flinging the Prussian from him and dusting off his hands as though they were polluted, "make yourself scarce. But remember after this to respect the American flag. Americans are behind it!"
The crowd pushed and jostled the disheveled vandal as he slunk away and then, after cheering Frank, gradually dispersed.
"Boy, it was neat work!" cried Bart, as the two friends crossed the street together. "Coming on to the office?"
"No, I've got to see mother first and straighten my tie," grinned Frank. "I'll probably catch up to you though. So long."
Frank found his mother awaiting him with outstretched arms.
"Oh, my boy," she cried, "you were splendid! If you will wait just a little while till our affairs are more settled I will not say a word to your joining the army. If all Germans are like that—"
"They are, Mother," replied Frank, grimly. "Germany is a nation of men like him. What he did to our flags the whole Prussian empire is trying to do to the world."
"Then you must go!" cried his mother, holding him from her and regarding him with flaming eyes. "Because I love my son, I will give him—for my dear France and for America!"
"That's it, Mother," cried Frank, his whole soul responding to the kindling spirit in her eyes. "For America and France, the two greatest republics in the world. It won't be the first time they've fought together."
"No," replied his mother proudly. "Lafayette and other brave sons of France helped this country to win its independence, and it is only right that now when France is hard pressed and pouring out her blood like water, Americans should fight side by side with her to make the world safe for democracy."
"You're a true daughter of France, Mother," said Frank, admiringly.
"Ah,la belleFrance," sighed his mother. "I love her with all my heart and soul. How many times I have longed to go back and see her sunny vineyards and her beautiful cities."
"You and father were planning to go over there just before the war broke out, weren't you, Mother?" asked Frank.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Sheldon. "And for two reasons. I was wild to see the dear homeland again, and then, too, I felt I ought to go to see about the property my father, your grandfather, left me. But then your dear father died, and after that I had no heart to go. Nor could I have gone anyway, had I wished, for the war would have made it almost impossible."
"Well, we don't care much for the property, Mother," said Frank. "While I've got two strong arms I'll support you. And yet," he added, a little more thoughtfully, "it wouldn't have been a bad thing if we had been able to sell it so that you could have the money now when I am liable to be called away. We've got only this house and the little money that dad left us, and I'm afraid you will have all you can do to get along."
"Don't worry about me," replied the mother in a tone that strove to be cheerful. "You know I have the true French thrift—you've said yourself that I am a wonderful manager—I can make a little money go a long way. The only reason I ever cared for the property was for your sake, so that you could get a good start in the world. I don't know now that we can ever get it. It was tangled up in a lawsuit and that was one of the reasons why I ought to have been there in person when the estate was being settled."
"Never mind, little Mother," cried Frank gaily, "I'm the richest fellow in the world this minute with such a mother as you are."
He gave her a quick embrace and kiss and hurried out of the house, for he had been away from the office considerably longer than usual. But quick as was the time he made in getting downtown, the news of his exploit had preceded him and he found the place buzzing with excitement.
Bart, who had let the story lose nothing in the telling, gave him a resounding thump on the back as he came in.
"Here's the fellow that made the Hun eat crow," he cried, jubilantly.
"And from all accounts it didn't agree with him," grinned Tom. "It was a dandy bit of work, Frank. I only wish I'd been there to see you make the Hun kiss the flag."
"Bully for you, old scout!" cried Hal. "There's a lot of other fellows in this town that ought to get the same treatment. I know some of them that had a regular party the day the news came that theLusitaniawas sunk."
"I heard of that, too," said Frank. "But we want to remember, fellows, that not all Germans felt that way. Some of them felt just as shocked and outraged over it as we did ourselves. There are lots of fellows with German blood in their veins that are just as good Americans as we are."
"I suppose there are," conceded Bart, a little grudgingly. "Not all of them are tarred with the same brush. But there are too many of them who regard Germany as their father and America as their father-in-law, and you know which one of the two a fellow is apt to like better."
Just then Rabig passed through the room on his way to another part of the building. He cast a sour look upon the group, and there was special malignity in his gaze as it rested for a moment on Frank.
"You're about as popular with Rabig as a rattlesnake is with a picnic party," laughed Bart, as Rabig went on. "If looks could kill you'd be a dead man this minute. He hated you before, but he hates you worse now since he's heard of that little fracas. Gee, how I'd like to see him have to kneel and kiss the flag!"
"He'd try to bite it," put in Reddy.
At this moment a group of newsboys passed outside, shouting their extras.
"I guess that means the President's gone and done it," cried Frank. "Here, Reddy, take this dime and go out and get one of those papers. If you're back in half a minute you can keep the change."
"Whoop-ee!" cried Reddy, and was off like a bullet from a gun. Soon he was back with the coveted paper, still damp from the press.
Across the top in screaming headlines was the phrase:
President Declares War on Germany!
"That settles it," said Frank. "We're in for it, now."
"Up to the neck," put in Reddy, whose small frame held an unlimited amount of patriotism. "Gee, I wish I was old enough to get in it. I wouldn't wait for no draft!"
"And now that we're in, we're in for keeps. That's America's way," said Bart.
"She's put her hand to the plow and she won't turn back," said old Peterson, solemnly, and into his dim eyes came the light that had shone there when, in his youth, he had stormed with his regiment the heights of Lookout Mountain.
There was little more work done in the office that day. Business, for the time, seemed a trivial thing. Something far greater and nobler filled the hearts of these ardent young Americans.
They heard the tramp of marching multitudes, they saw their country's flag unfurled, those glorious Stars and Stripes, that had never been smirched with dishonor, or gone down in defeat. And in their hearts they swore that what had been true in the past should be true, too, in the future, though they might shed their blood and lose their lives in making it true.
A great mass meeting was organized that night and Bart and Frank attended it. The hall was thronged, and eloquent speakers voiced the feeling that filled the hearts of all. But nothing stirred them so strongly as when the final orator closed his speech with a scathing denunciation of the Prussian foe, quoted from one of America's noblest sons:
"They have gone forth to battle in the spirit of their ancestral Huns. Wreckers of cathedrals, destroyers of libraries, despoilers of cemeteries, slayers of old men and women and children, barbarians by instinct, pirates and incendiaries by practice, terrorists by training, slaves by habit and bullies by profession—maiming, poisoning, burning, suffocating, deporting, enslaving, murderers of the very souls of a people so far as it is in their power—the rest of the world can live on terms of peace and good will with them only after they have drained to the dregs the bitter cup of military defeat!"
Thunders of applause swept through the hall as the speaker finished.
"Say, but that was a rattling speech," remarked Bart, as the two chums walked home together.
"Yes," agreed Frank, "it was magnificent. But after all, Bart, it will take more than words to win this war. It's up to us to turn those words into deeds. It's bullets and bayonets that count!"
Although it was nearly midnight when he reached home, Frank found his mother sitting up and waiting for him.
"You shouldn't have sat up for me, Mother," he said, in tones of tender reproach. "It's too bad that you should be robbed of your sleep like this."
"I don't mind as long as I know you're coming," replied his mother. "It is the other nights I shall dread, the nights when I shall not hear your footsteps on the porch, and I'm afraid that time is coming very soon."
"I fear it is, Mother," he replied gently. "There's only one thing left for me to do. I have felt it before, but I feel it more than ever after what I've heard to-night. I wish you'd been there, Mother, and heard the unbelievable things I did about the way the Germans are carrying on this war. And yet again I'm glad you weren't, for it would have turned your very soul sick. There's no use talking, the Prussian spirit must be crushed, and until it is, this world won't be a fit place to live in."
"I know you are right, dear," responded Mrs. Sheldon. "And though it breaks my heart to have you go, I'll give you up as cheerfully as I can and try to live through the long days when you're away from me. Of one thing I feel sure, that wherever you go, or whatever your country calls upon you to do, you'll make me proud of you."
"I'll do my best, Mother," Frank replied. "I'm not going for glory or for promotion or anything else except to see my country win the war. All I ask is a chance to do my bit."
Camport was a changed city the next day. A new spirit and new purpose were visible in the looks of all. The long strain of waiting was over and America was girding herself for the fight.
"Well," old Peterson was saying as Frank entered the office, "it's up to you young fellows to show that America's still got the stuff. I only wish I were young enough to shoulder a gun and go myself."
"You've done your share, Mr. Peterson," said Bart. "If the boys of to-day do as well as those who wore the blue and gray they'll show the Prussians where they get off."
"It will make a big change in this place," said the old bookkeeper, as he looked around at the group of eager faces. "You young roosters all seem to be aching to get into the scrap, and there won't be any of you left."
"Rabig will be here," piped up Reddy, and there was a general laugh.
"I could spare him," growled old Peterson, with whom Rabig was about as unpopular as he was with the younger men.
"Well, fellows, let's count noses," said Frank. "How many of us are going to enlist and how many of us are going to wait for the draft?"
"Enlist! enlist!" came in a general chorus, reinforced by Reddy's shrill treble.
"You'll have to wait awhile, Reddy," laughed Frank. "Your heart's all right, but Uncle Sam isn't ready for the kids yet."
"Mr. Peterson said there were boys in the Union army only fourteen years old," grumbled Reddy. "And if they could fight I don't see why I can't."
"I'm going into the navy," announced Dick Ormsby, whose father was a retired sea captain. "I've got the love of blue water in my veins I guess, and I'm aching to get a chance to pot a German U-boat."
"Me for the aviators!" cried Will Baxter. "I always wanted to be a high flyer—now I've got the chance. I know all about running a motorcycle and that ought to help a lot."
"I'd like to join the cavalry," joined in Hal Chase. "But they don't seem to have much use for them in this war. Horses can't go over trenches and barbed wire fences."
"The infantry's good enough for me," declared Frank.
"And for me, too," echoed Bart. "Uncle Sam needs men in every branch, but after all, it's the hand to hand fighting of the armies that's going to decide this war."
At this moment, Mr. Moore, the senior member of the firm, came out from his office. He was a large man with a genial face and bearing, and was generally liked by his employees to whom he was fair and just.
His eyes twinkled as he saw the alacrity with which the young men scattered to their desks.
"Don't worry, boys," he said. "I know that your minds aren't much on business to-day, and I don't wonder. To tell the truth, I'd be sorry if they were. There come times when there's only one important thing in the world, and this is one of the times. I've got just a word to say to you boys," he went on. "I don't know just what each one of you is planning to do in connection with this war. Each one of you must decide that matter for himself. From things I've heard, most of you seem eager to go. I shall be sorry to lose you, for we never were busier than we are now, but I should be still more sorry to have you stay here when your country needs you at the front.
"Mr. Thomas and I have been talking this thing over and we want to say to you that as far as the money part of it is concerned you needn't hesitate. We're not going to let you lose a cent by following your patriotic instinct. Some of you have dependents at home who rely in part or wholly upon what you earn. So we have decided that your salaries will go on as usual—that is, that we will make up the difference between what the Government pays you and what you are getting now. In that way you will be able to serve your country with nothing on your mind except the best and quickest way to win the war."
A spontaneous cheer rose from the young men, as with a smile and wave of his hand their employer turned back to his office.
"Gee, but he's a game sport!" exclaimed Reddy, voicing forcibly if inelegantly the feeling of all.
If there had been any hesitation before, this generous speech removed it and now the boys were ready for action.
That very evening Frank and Bart, accompanied by Billy Waldon, went to the headquarters of the Thirty-seventh regiment. Here they put in their applications for enlistment.
There were few formalities, for the regiment was eager to recruit its numbers up to full strength.
Neither one of the chums had any trouble in passing the physical examination, for both were splendid specimens of manhood. Frank was six feet tall in his stocking feet, straight and lithe as an Indian, and with fine muscular development.
Bart, who was two inches shorter, was broad shouldered, well set up, and capable of great endurance. All the prodding of the doctors failed to reveal the slightest defect, and they passed the test triumphantly.
Then they took the oath of allegiance, promising in words what they had long since promised in their hearts, and were duly enrolled as members of the famous regiment.
"Well, now you're one of us, boys," cried Billy, as he grasped the hand of each warmly. "And, believe me, it's a great old regiment to belong to. Come along and I'll show you some of the flags we carried in the Civil War."
They went with him through the armory and saw some of the treasured relics that the regiment cherished as its most priceless possessions.
There were the old flags, blackened with powder, torn with bullets, that had gone through the fire of Antietam and Gettysburg and Chickamauga.
The boys took off their hats as they stood before them.
There were the cannon that had thundered on the banks of the Rapidan and in the valley of the Shenandoah. A glass case covered a letter of commendation for a wild charge that had saved the day at Shiloh. There was the blood-stained hat of the colonel who had fallen while leading the regiment at Gaines' Mill.
"That was the kind of stuff the regiment was made up of in the old days," said Billy, proudly.
"It's a glorious record," said Frank, reverently. "And now it's up to us to show that what the old boys did in Virginia, the young fellows are going to do again in France!"
Now that the momentous step had been taken, the boys buckled down to work—work of the hardest and most strenuous kind.
They left their positions with Moore and Thomas the next day, with the hearty good wishes of the firm and the assurance that their places would be ready for them as soon as they returned.
The only gloomy member of the office force was Tom Bradford, who had also applied for enlistment but had been rejected on account of his teeth. Now he had on a grouch of the grouchiest kind.
"Hang the red tape!" he growled. "What have a fellow's teeth got to do with it? I don't want to bite the Germans, I want to shoot them."
"Never mind, old scout," comforted Bart. "Perhaps the dentist can fix that up. Anyway you can root for us if you can't go along."
"Not much nourishment in that," grunted Tom, refusing to be shaken from his attitude of settled gloom.
"It does seem mighty hard," remarked Bart, after Tom had left them. "I don't think the Government ought to be so particular. The time may come when they'll be glad enough to get such fine fellows as Tom, teeth or no teeth."
"Perhaps so," agreed Frank; "but just now they've got such a lot of material that they can afford to pick and choose. And after all, perhaps they're right. They've got to have a pretty high level of physical condition."
"I suppose you're right," said Bart, adding: "Suppose poor old Tom should get a toothache in the trenches. You can't expect to have dentists on tap."
"As far as that goes," Frank took him up quickly, grinning at the picture that rose before his mind, "I should think a good hard toothache would be an asset. You'd be so mad you could kill a dozen Germans. It would just be getting your mind off your agony."
Bart grinned.
"Yes and it would have another advantage. When you've got a toothache you don't care whether you live or die. Getting stabbed with a bayonet would be almost a relief."
"That's so," laughed Frank. "He'd be something like the seasick passenger who, for the first hour, was afraid he was going to die and after that was afraid he couldn't. I suppose Uncle Sam figures it this way," he went on, "if a chain has a single weak link in it the whole chain is weak.
"You know how it is in a crowd. A hundred people may be eager to get out of a place, but if two or three in front are slow it holds up the whole hundred. But I'm willing to bet that someway or somehow Tom will manage to get in."
"I hope so, anyway," said Bart. "I'd like to have the old scout along with us."
A day or two later the boys got their uniforms and then they began to feel like genuine soldiers. It set them apart from other men and emphasized the fact that from now on they had but one aim in life, to fight and, if need be, die for Uncle Sam.
The first sight of Frank in khaki was a stab at the mother heart of Mrs. Sheldon, although she could not avoid a thrill of admiration at the splendid figure that he made. To her it meant separation, a separation that was coming swiftly nearer with each passing day. And there might be no reunion!
But, although her lips were tremulous, her eyes were bright and she kept her forebodings bravely under cover. She was a thoroughbred, and it was easy to see where Frank had inherited his spirit.
"How proud your father would be if he could see you now," she said with a slight tremble in her voice, which she strove to conceal.
"Perhaps he does," said Frank reverently. "If he were here I know that he would approve of what I'm doing."
The days were all too short now for the work that was crowded into them. Government preparations were going on with feverish rapidity. Events followed one another as though on wings.
The order had gone forth for the draft and another order had decreed that the regiments of the national guard should be enrolled in and form part of the regular army.
This latter order was the subject of some regret with the members of the old Thirty-seventh, whose pride in their regiment was intense and who had hoped to have it remain intact under its old officers for the period of the war.
"We'll lose our identity now," mourned Billy Waldon. "We'll just be part of some big rainbow division, made up of fellows from all over the United States. For my part, I think it's a mistake. I think the regiment would fight better under its own colors and with its old traditions to inspire it."
"We mustn't criticize the Government, Billy," said Frank. "My theory all through this war is going to be that Uncle Sam is right. He's got good reasons for everything he does."
"'Them's my sentiments'," put in Bart. "Whether we have the regimental colors or not, we'll all be fighting under the one flag, Old Glory, and it's only the Stars and Stripes that counts, after all. To me there's an inspiration in the thought of the whole United States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, fighting as a unit."
"Well, perhaps you're right," said Billy, somewhat mollified. "At any rate, nothing can take away from us the fact that we're volunteers."
A few days passed, then orders came that the regiment should be assembled at the armory to be kept there day and night until they should be sent to Camp Boone—as we shall call the cantonment that had been prepared for them.
To Frank's mother the order sounded like the knell of doom. It was the final step of separation. The word had passed that the boys were to bring all their belongings to the armory as no leave would be given under any circumstances.
"Good-bye, dear boy!" she began bravely, and then all her courage gave way to a storm of tears.
Frank's own eyes were wet as he folded her closely to him and comforted her as best he could, though feeling very much in need of comfort himself.
"Bear up, Mother," he urged. "It will only be a little while before I come marching home again, and I'll be thinking of you all the time and write to you whenever I get a chance."
He forced himself to go at last with many a backward look and wave of his hand at the figure in the doorway. His heart was heavy as he reflected that in the chances of war he might never see her again.
The next few days were full of excitement, allowing him little time to brood. Both he and Bart took to a soldier's life as a duck takes to water. The martial spirit was there together with the quick intelligence that enables America to turn out finished soldiers more quickly than any other country in the world.
They had an advantage too in being sandwiched in, as it were, with the men who had just come back from the Mexican border and had had such recent experience in practical outdoor preparation for fighting.
Billy Waldon, especially, was a mine of information and suggestion, and as they threw themselves into the work with all their heart and soul it was not long before they could feel that they were graduating from the "rookie" class and becoming regular soldiers.
Their commanding officers looked on them with approval and secretly wished that all of their recruits might be of the same high-class type.
"You're going along like a house afire, fellows," said Billy, after drill had ended one morning. "The manual of arms is just pie for you. Kitchener used to think that it took a year to turn out a soldier. I'll bet if he'd been on this side of the water he'd have felt differently.
"I'm glad you think so," said Frank. "But after all, we're just going through the motions now. The test will come a little later on."
"I'd bet on you now or any time," answered Billy.
The looked-for orders came at last from Washington, and there was a great stir and bustle at the armory. Then the next morning the great doors swung open and the regiment marched forth, headed by its band.
Through the old familiar streets it marched, amid the cheers and tears of those who packed the sidewalks, past the commercial house of Moore and Thomas, where old Peterson waved his hand tremulously and Reddy, with Oliver Twist perched upon his shoulder, shouted himself hoarse and nearly fell out of the window in his enthusiasm, down to the railroad station where the long train waited for them.
There they broke ranks while friends and relatives, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, sweethearts and wives, crowded around them, pressing last gifts into their hands, caressing them, enthusing them, crying over them, until the warning whistle blew and they were forced to tear themselves away.
Those few moments had been precious ones to Frank and his mother, for in them they had compressed a world of affection, that fell from their lips and looked from their eyes.
"I won't say good-bye, little Mother," said Frank. "It's justau revoir."
"Yes, dear," agreed his mother tremulously. "Au revoir. What is that?" she interrupted herself with a start. "Ah, it is the whistle. My boy, my boy, I cannot let you go. Yes, I will be brave," Frank turned his head aside to hide his own emotion as his mother pathetically tried to smile. "There, go, dear, go,—before my resolution breaks entirely.Au revoir—my boy—my boy—"
With a little strangled sound in his throat Frank tore himself away and, without trusting himself to look back, climbed into the car with his jostling comrades. Then he leaned far out of the window, caught his mother to him and kissed her.
The whistle shrieked again, and amid a storm of cheers and waving of handkerchiefs the train moved out. The old Thirty-seventh had started on the road to victory!