s would say--particularly Frenchy. But if only his brother
would talk to him and ask about their mother he could bear everything
else--the dashing of his triumph, the danger he was in, the shame. The
shame, most of all.

He did not care so much now about being Sherlock Nobody Holmes--he had
had enough of that. And no matter what they thought of "Yankee Doodle
Whitey," _he_ knew that he was loyal. Let them think that all his talk
of Uncle Job and the flag and his father's patriotism was just
bluff--let Frenchy think he had been just deceiving him--he could stand
anything, if only his brother would be like a brother to him now that
they were alone together.

It was a strange, unreasonable feeling.

Once, only once, in the long night, he tried to make his brother
understand.

"Maybe you won't believe me, but I'm sorry," he said; "if you ain't
asleep I wish you'd listen--Bill. Now that I told 'em I feel kind of
different--I _had_ to tell 'em. I had to decide quick--and I didn't
have nobody--anybody--to help me. Maybe you think I was crazy---- Are
you listenin'?"

There was no response, but he knew his brother was not asleep.

"It ain't because I wanted 'em to think I was smart--Bill--if you think
it was that, you're wrong. And anyway, it didn't show I was so
smart--you was smarter, anyway, if it comes to that. I got to admit it.
'Cause you thought about it first--about using the dish. It served me
right for thinking I could deduce, and all like that, anyway. You ain't
asleep, are you?"

"Aw, shut up!" his brother grunted. "You could 'a' kept me out o' this
by keepin' yer mouth shut. But you had to jabber it out, you----. And
they'll plug me full of lead."

A cold shudder ran through Tom.

"I got to admit I'm a kind of a (he was going to say _traitor_, but for
his brother's sake he avoided the word). I got to admit I wasn't loyal,
too. I wasn't loyal to you, anyway. But I had to decide quick, Bill. And
I saw I _had_ to tell 'em. You got to be loyal to Uncle Sam first of
all. But--but---- Are you listening, Bill? I ain't mad, anyway. 'Cause
Adolf Schmitt's most to blame. It ain't--it ain't 'cause I want to get
let off free either, it ain't. I wouldn't care so much now what they did
to me, anyway. 'Cause everything is kind of spoiled now about all of
us--our family--being so kind of patriotic----"

His brother, goaded out of his sullenness, turned upon him with a tirade
of profane abuse, leaving the boy shamed and