"If I was a boy and had been in the war,
I'd never stop talking about it."
"And I'd have been in it, too, if pa hadn't up and told 'em I was
only a little more than fifteen," said Cale, glowering at his father
in the darkness.
"You mustn't blame your pa, Cale," rebuked his mother. "He knows
what a soldier's life is better than you do. He was down in that
camp at Chattanooga during the Spanish War, and almost died of
typhoid, Courtney. And when I think of the way our boys died by
the millions of the flu, I--well, I just know you would have died
of it, sonny, and I wouldn't have had any cross or medal to look
at, and--and--"
"Don't begin cryin', Lucindy," broke in old Caleb hastily. "He didn't
die of the flu, so what's the sense of worryin' about it now? He
didn't even ketch it, and gosh knows, the whole blamed country was
full of it that winter."
"Well," began Mrs. Vick defensively, and then compressed her lips
in silence.
"I think it was perfectly wonderful of you, Mr. Thane, to go over
to France and fight in the American Ambulance so long before we
went into the war." This from the adoring Rosabel. "I wish you'd
tell us more about your experiences. They must have been terrible.
You never talk about them, though. I think the real heroes were the
fellows who went over when you did,--when you didn't really have
to, because America wasn't in it.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60