so I
came with him," Philip explained lamely.

"I am never too tired to receive a welcome like this--"

"We want your advice," Billy interrupted.

"Won't it wait until we get to the house?"

"No," Billy insisted; "it's urgent. Phil and I want to go to the war,
and if we don't hurry they may call it off and then we'll be rooked."

"I wish there was a chance they might," Huntington said feelingly.
"There's no fear of that, boy. They are in for a long and terrible
struggle."

"Great!" cried Philip. "I've always wanted to go to war, and I never
believed there would be another."

"I'm going because I want to get shot up just to spite Merry," added
Billy, remembering his grievance and looking at the girl gloomily.

"The fact that you realize so little what you are saying is the greatest
argument you could advance in favor of your going," Huntington said,
looking at them gravely.

"I didn't mean to speak as I did," Philip replied apologetically. "It
is a terrible thing, of course, but since it has come I am crazy to be a
part of it. I believe I'll run away if Mother and Dad don't let me go!"

"I meant just what I said," Billy insisted stoutly. "Merry is very
unhappy,--haven't you noticed it?"

"Do I look so now?" she laughed at him.

"You shouldn't interrupt," he reproved her; "it isn't polite.--She
doesn't know what is the matter with her, but I do."

"What is the matter, Billy?" Huntington inquired seriously. "If I knew,
perhaps I could help her."

"Of course you could; that's why I'm telling you. She's in love with me
and she doesn't know it."

"By Jove!" Huntington exclaimed, looking at Merry's beaming face as she
walked beside him, and then at the serious features of the boy on the
other side. "I'm afraid I can't help, after all."

"Yes, you can," Billy insisted confidently. "Merry will believe anything
you tell her. Now if I go to war and get shot up she will realize her
destiny, and will come to the hospital over there somewhere and be a Red
Cross nurse, and fix me all up. Then we'll be married,--unless my wound
is fatal and I die," he added, gulping down the pathos which this
painful picture stirred within himself.

"I can't stay with you, Billy, if you harrow up my feelings like this,"
Huntington declared. "It isn't fair to take advantage of your
sympathetic old uncle."

"He's just talking in bunches, Mr. Huntington," Philip said disgustedly.
"You mustn't mind what he says. His mouth is full of