.

Then there was poor old one-armed Uncle Job Slade who used to get drunk,
but he had told Tom about "them confounded rebels and traitors" of
Lincoln's time, and when he had died in the Soldiers' Home they had
buried him with the Stars and Stripes draped over his coffin.

He was sorry now that he had not mentioned these things when gruff,
well-meaning Pete Connigan had spoken disparagingly of the Slades.

He was glad he was not an adopted American like Frenchy, but that all
his family had been Americans as far back as he knew. He was proud to
"belong" to a country that other people wanted to "join"--that _he_ had
never had to join. And as he stood at the rail when his duties were
finished that same night and gazed off across the black, rough ocean, he
made up his mind that after this when he heard slurs cast upon his
father and his uncle, instead of feeling ashamed he would defend them,
and tell of the good things which he knew about them.

He stood there at the rail, quite alone, thinking. The night was very
dark and the sea was rough. Not a light was to be seen upon the ship.

It occurred to him that it might be better for him not to stand there
with his white steward's jacket on. He recalled how, up at Temple Camp,
one could see the white tents very clearly all the way across the lake.

There was no rule about it, apparently, but sometimes, when people
forgot to make a good rule, Tom made it for them. So now he went down to
his little stateroom (the captain's mess boy had a tiny stateroom to
himself) and put on a dark coat.

The second cabin dining saloon and dining room, which were below decks
and had no outside ports, were crowded with soldiers, playing cards and
checkers, and they did not fail to "josh" Whitey as he passed through.
Frenchy was there and he waved pleasantly to Tom.

"Going to get out and walk, Whitey?" a soldier called. "I see you've got
your street clothes on."

"I thought maybe the white would be too easy to see," Tom answered.

"Wise guy!" someone commented.

Reaching the main deck he edged his way along between the narrow
passageway and the washroom to a secluded spot astern. He liked this
place because it was so lonesome and unfrequented and because he could
hear the whir and splash of the great propellers directly beneath him as
each big roller lifted the after part of the vessel out of the water.
Here he could think about Bridgeboro and Temple Camp, and Roy Blakeley
and the othe