s at. But as affairs
got messier and messier, and the U-boats got busier, and I heard some
first-hand details of what had happened to the Belgians--well, I got
mighty restless. I expect I indulged in more serious thought stuff than
I'd ever been guilty of.

You see, it was along back when we were gettin' our first close-ups of
the big scrap--some of our boats sunk, slinkers reported off Sandy Hook,
bomb plots shown up, and Papa Joffre over here soundin' the S. O. S.
earnest.

Then there was Mr. Robert joinin' the Naval Reserves, and two young
hicks from the bond room who'd volunteered. We'd had postals from 'em at
the trainin' camp. Even Vee was busy with a first-aid class, learnin'
how to tie bandages and put on splints.

So private seccing seemed sort of tame and useless--like keepin' on
sprinklin' the lawn after your chimney was bein' struck by lightnin'. I
felt like I ought to be gettin' in the game somehow. Anyway, it seemed
as if it was my ante.

Not that I'd been rushed off my feet by all this buntin'-wavin' or
khaki-wearin'. I'm no panicky Old Glory trail-hitter. Nor I didn't lug
around the idea I was the missin' hero who was to romp through the
barbed wire, stamp Hindenburg's whiskers in the mud, and lead the Allies
across the Rhine. I didn't even kid myself I could swim out and kick a
hole in a submarine, or do the darin' aviator act after a half-hour
lesson at Mineola.

In fact, I suspected that sheddin' the enemy's gore wasn't much in my
line. I knew I should dislike quittin' the hay at dawn to sneak out and
get mixed up with half a bushel of impetuous scrap-iron. Still, if it
had to be done, why not me as well as the next party?

I'd been meanin' to talk it over with Vee--sort of hint around, anyway,
and see how she'd take it. But as a matter of fact I never could seem to
find just the right openin' until, there one night after dinner, as she
finishes a new piece she's tryin' over on the piano, I wanders up
beside her and starts absent-minded tearin' little bits off a corner of
the music.

"Torchy!" she protests. "What an absurd thing to do."

"Eh?" says I, twistin' it into a cornucopia. "But you know I can't go on
warmin' the bench like this."

She stares at me puzzled for a second.

"Meaning what, for instance?" she asks.

"I got to go help swat the Hun," says I.

The flickery look in them gray eyes of hers steadies down, and she
reaches out for one of my hands. That's all. No jumpy emotio