in her mind. It was an unfair suspicion, he thought, one
unworthy of her, and for an instant his anger flamed. _He'd_ show her
what kind of stuff the son of his old friend was made of! He'd make her
repent bitterly, by letting her realize that, once in France, Jeb might
be lost to her forever! It was a cruelty unlike the Colonel, but he was
mad through and through. To touch Jeb's honor was akin to touching his
own. So he joined in laughing with her, and exclaimed:

"Jeb, your company will get the pick of it, for it's always the first
boys over who draw the primest fighting--and you ought to be on the
firing line by June! Think of that, sir! Why, it'll be another case of
Kitchener's first hundred thousand--you'll get chewed up into little
bits! Gad, but I envy you! Why, I'll bet a cooky there isn't a fellow in
your company who comes out with both legs! It's an opportunity of a
life time, sir!"

Had Jeb not been quick enough to know that Marian was closely watching
him, he might have cried aloud for the Colonel to be quiet. The old
gentleman's enthusiastic words, in contrast to Jeb's earlier vision of
gay uniforms, flashing bayonets, flags, soft smiles and dewy eyes, made
the picture of actual war take on a thousand new horrors. He felt sick;
the next instant he hated himself--but, above all other things, these
people must never suspect him!

In the midst of this depression, while he seemed to be standing on a
slave-block, while critical eyes bored him for defects, he thought of
somebody's prophecy that the war would be over by July. This was a very
large straw for Jeb just then, so he grasped it eagerly, summoning
another grin and saying with a tremendous effort to keep his voice
steady:

"I wouldn't ask for a greater picnic--if we get there in time! But some
people think Germany's about done for!"

"That's because Germany _wants_ us to think so." Mr. Strong, still
looking out of the window, flung the words over his shoulder. "It's a
crafty part of their scheme to bait us--Roger has opened my eyes to
that!"

"By gad," the Colonel exclaimed, immensely pleased by the editor's
acknowledgment, "the war won't be over until the armies of William the
Vile, the Prussian Outcast Emperor, are licked to a frazzle--and that's
going to take five million of our men, a hundred billion of our dollars,
and a damned sight longer than any year, or two years, or three years;
you can bet your last nickel on it!"

Marian gasped, and