nder-hunger gripped him, and with this restless mood upon him he
stormed at Bronson.

"It's a dog's life."

"Yes, sir," said Bronson, dutifully.

"It is dead lonesome, Bronson, and I can't keep Jean tied here all of
the time. She is looking pale, don't you think she is looking pale?"

"Yes, sir. I think she misses Mr. Derry."

"Well, she'll miss him a lot more before she gets him back," grimly.
"He'll be going over soon--"

"Yes, sir."

"I wish I were going," the old man was wistful. "Think of it, Bronson,
to be over there--in the thick of it, playing the game, instead of
rotting here--"

It was, of course, the soldier's point of view. Bronson, being
hopelessly civilian, did his best to rise to what was expected of him.
"You like it then, sir?"

"Like it? It is the only life. We've lost something since men took up
the game of business in place of the game of fighting."

"But you see, sir, there's no blood--in business." Bronson tried to
put it delicately.

"Isn't there? Why, more men are killed in accidents in factories than
are killed in war--murdered by money-greedy employers."

"Oh, sir, not quite that."

"Yes, quite," was the irascible response. "You don't know what you are
talking about, Bronson. Read statistics and find out."

"Yes, sir. Will you have your lunch up now, sir?"

"I'll get it over and then you can order the car for me."

"But the rain--?"

"I like rain. I'm not sugar or salt."

Bronson, much perturbed, called up Jean. "The General's going out."

"Oh, but he mustn't, Bronson."

"I can't say 'mustn't' to him, Miss," Bronson reported dismally.
"You'd better see what you can do--"

But when Jean arrived, the General was gone!

"We'll drive out through the country," the old man had told his
chauffeur, and had settled back among his cushions, his cane by his
side, his foot up on the opposite seat to relieve him of the weight.

And it was as he rode that he began to have a strange feeling about
that foot which no longer walked or bore him lightly.

How he had marched in those bygone days! He remembered the first time
he had tried to keep step with his fellows. The tune had been Yankee
Doodle--with a fife and drum--and he was a raw young recruit in his
queer blue uniform and visored cap--.

And how eager his feet had been, how strongly they had borne him,
spurning the dust of the road--as they would bear him no more--.

There were men who envied him as he swep