, the hideous sea of counter arguments,
arguments of a slacker, surged upon him. What would it all matter a
hundred years from now? Wasn't he more useful in his place keeping up
the industries of the nation? Wasn't he a bigger asset to America as an
alive engineer, an expert in his work, than as mere cannon fodder, one
of thousands to be shot into junk in a morning's "activity"--just one of
them? Because the Germans were devils why should he let them reach over
here, away over here, and drag him out of a decent and happy life and
throw him like dirt into the horrible mess they had made, and leave him
dead or worse--mangled and useless. Then, again--there were plenty of
men mad to fight; why not let them? Through a long afternoon he fought
with the beasts, and dinner-time came and he did not notice, and at last
he rose and, telephoning first to Mary a terse message that he would not
be able to come this evening, he went out, hardly knowing what he did,
and wandered up town.

There was a humble church in a quiet street where a service flag hung,
thick with dark stars, and the congregation were passing out from a
special service for its boys who were going off to camp. The boys were
there on the steps, surrounded by people eager to touch their hands, a
little group of eight or ten with serious bright faces, and a look in
their eyes which stabbed into Barlow. One may see that look any day in
any town, meeting the erect stalwart lads in khaki who are about our
streets. It is the look of those who have made a vital sacrifice and
know the price, and whose minds are at peace. Barlow, lingering on the
corner across the way, stared hungrily. How had they got that look, that
peace? If only he might talk to one of them! Yet he knew how dumb an
animal is a boy, and how helpless these would be to give him the master
word.

The master-word, he needed that; he needed it desperately. He must go;
he must. Life would be unendurable without self-respect; no amount of
explaining could cover the stain on his soul if he failed in the answer
to the call of honor. That was it, it was in a nut-shell, the call. Yet
he could not hear it as his call. He wandered unhappily away and left
the church and its dissolving congregation, and the boys, the pride of
the church, the boys who were now, they also, separating and going back
each to his home for the last evening perhaps, to be loved and made much
of. Barlow vaguely pictured the scenes in those li