To promise, however, is one thing, to fulfill the obligation another.As the days passed Albert found his promise concerning letter-writing very, very hard to keep.When, each evening he sat down at the table in his room to pour out his soul upon paper it was a most unsatisfactory outpouring.The constantly enforced recollection that whatever he wrote would be subject to the chilling glance of the eye of Fosdick mater was of itself a check upon the flow.To write a love letter to Madeline had hitherto been a joy, a rapture, to fill pages and pages a delight.Now, somehow, these pages were hard to fill.Omitting the very things you were dying to say, the precious, the intimate things--what was there left? He and she had, at their meetings and in their former correspondence, invented many delightful little pet names for each other.Now those names were taboo; or, at any rate, they might as well be.The thought of Mrs.Fosdick's sniff of indignant disgust at finding her daughter referred to as some one's ownest little rosebud withered that bud before it reached the paper.
And Madeline's letters to him were quite as unsatisfactory.They were lengthy, but oh, so matter of fact! Saharas of fact without one oasis of sentiment.She was well and she had done this and that and had been to see such and such plays and operas.Father was well and very busy.Mother, too, was well, so was Googoo--but these last two bits of news failed to comfort him as they perhaps should.He could only try to glean between the lines, and as Mrs.
Fosdick had raked between those lines before him, the gleaning was scant picking indeed.
He found himself growing disconsolate and despondent.Summer seemed ages away.And when at last it should come--what would happen then? He could see her only when properly chaperoned, only when Mother, and probably Googoo, were present.He flew for consolation to the Muse and the Muse refused to console.The poems he wrote were "blue" and despairing likewise.Consequently they did not sell.He was growing desperate, ready for anything.And something came.Germany delivered to our Government its arrogant mandate concerning unlimited submarine warfare.A long-suffering President threw patience overboard and answered that mandate in unmistakable terms.Congress stood at his back and behind them a united and indignant people.The United States declared war upon the Hun.
South Harniss, like every other community, became wildly excited.
Captain Zelotes Snow's gray eyes flashed fiery satisfaction.The flags at the Snow place and at the lumber yard flew high night and day.He bought newspapers galore and read from them aloud at meals, in the evenings, and before breakfast.Issachar, as usual, talked much and said little.Laban Keeler's comments were pithy and dryly pointed.Albert was very quiet.
But one forenoon he spoke.Captain Lote was in the inner office, the morning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed the door behind him.The captain looked up.
"Well, Al, what is it?" he asked.
Albert came over and stood beside the desk.The captain, after a moment's scrutiny of the young man's face, put down his newspaper.
"Well, Al?" he said, again.
Albert seemed to find it hard to speak.
"Grandfather," he began, "I--I--Grandfather, I have come to ask a favor of you."The captain nodded, slowly, his gaze fixed upon his grandson's face.
"All right; heave ahead," he said quietly.
"Grandfather, you and I have had a four years' agreement to work together in this office.It isn't up yet, but--but I want to break it.I want you to let me off.""Humph!...Let you off, eh?...What for?""That's what I came here to tell you.Grandfather, I can't stay here--now.I want to enlist."Captain Zelotes did not answer.His hand moved upward and pulled at his beard.
"I want to enlist," repeated Albert."I can't stand it another minute.I must.If it hadn't been for you and our promise and--and Madeline, I think I should have joined the Canadian Army a year or more ago.But now that we have gone into the war, I CAN'T stay out.Grandfather, you don't want me to, do you? Of course you don't."His grandfather appeared to ponder.
"If you can wait a spell," he said slowly, "I might be able to fix it so's you can get a chance for an officer's commission.I'd ought to have some pull somewheres, seems so."Albert sniffed impatient disgust."I don't want to get a commission--in that way," he declared.
"Humph! You'll find there's plenty that do, I shouldn't wonder.""Perhaps, but I'm not one of them.And I don't care so much for a commission, unless I can earn it.And I don't want to stay here and study for it.I want to go now.I want to get into the thing.
I don't want to wait."
Captain Lote leaned forward.His gray eyes snapped.
"Want to fight, do you?" he queried.
"You bet I do!"
"All right, my boy, then go--and fight.I'd be ashamed of myself if I held you back a minute.Go and fight--and fight hard.I only wish to God I was young enough to go with you."
