at all? What are all these
fellers gittin' married for if there ain't somethin' behind it? They
ain't--"

"They're gittin' married because every blamed one of 'em is a slacker,"
said Alf forcibly.

"A what?"

"Slacker. They don't want to fight, that's what it means."

Anderson pondered. He tugged at his whiskers.

"They don't want to fight _who_?" he demanded abruptly.

"W'y--w'y--nobody," said Alf.

"They don't want to fight the _Germans_," said Mr. Crow triumphantly.
"That ought to settle the matter, Alf. What better proof do you want
than that? That shows the Germans are back of the whole infernal plot.
They are corruptin' our young men. Eggin' 'em into gittin' married
so's--"

"Well," said Alf, "there's only one way to put a stop to that. You got
to appeal to the women and girls of this here town. You simply got to
talk to 'em like a Dutch uncle, Anderson. These boys of our'n have just
got to remain single fer the duration of the war."

"That puts an idee in my head," said Anderson. "S'posin' I put up an
official notice from Washin'ton that all marriages contracted before the
draft are fer the duration of the war only. How's that?"

"Thunderation! No! That's just what the boys would like better'n
anything."

"But it ain't what the _girls_ would like, it is?"

Mr. Reesling was silent for a long time, letting the idea crystallize,
so to speak.

"Supposin' they hear about it in Washin'ton," said he doubtfully, but
still dazzled by the thought.

"President Wilson don't know this town's on the map," said Anderson, a
most surprising admission for him. "An' even if he does hear about it,
he'll back me up, you c'n bet your boots on that--even if I am a
Republican. Come on, Alf; let's step around to the _Banner_ printin'
office."

Shortly before noon a hastily printed poster, still damp and smelling of
ink, appeared on the bulletin-board in front of the town hall. A few
minutes later a similar decoration marred the facade of the Fairbanks
scales in front of Higgins's Feed Store, and still another loomed up on
the telephone pole in front of the post office.

With the help of the editor, who was above all things an enterprising
citizen and a patriot, the "official notice" was drafted, doctored and
approved in the dingy composing-room of the _Tinkletown Banner_. The
lone compositor, with a bucket of paste, sallied forth and, under the
critical eye of the town marshal, "stuck up" the poster in places where