t past them in the rain, men
who felt that he had more than his share of wealth and ease, yet he
would have made a glad exchange for the feet which took them where they
willed.

He came at last to one of his old haunts, a small stone house on the
edge of the Canal. From its wide porch he had often watched the slow
boats go by, with men and women and children living in worlds bounded
by weather-beaten decks. To-day in the rain there was a blur of lilac
bushes along the tow path, but no boats were in sight; the Canal was a
ruffled gray sheet in the April wind.

Lounging in the low-ceiled front room of the stone house were men of
the type with whom he had once foregathered--men not of his class or
kind, but interesting because of their very differences--human
derelicts who had welcomed him.

But now, for the first time he was not one of them. They eyed his
elegances with suspicion--his fur coat, his gloves, his hat--the man
whose limousine stood in front of the door was not one of them; they
might beg of him, but they would never call him "Brother."

So, because his feet no longer carried him, and he must ride, he found
himself cast out, as it were, by outcasts.

He ordered meat and drink for them, gave them money, made a joke or two
as he limped among them, yet felt an alien. He watched them wistfully,
seeing for the first time their sordidness, seeing what he himself had
been, more sordid than any, because of his greater opportunities.

Sitting apart, he judged them, judged himself. If all the world were
like these men, what kind of world would it be?

"Why aren't you fellows fighting?" he asked suddenly.

They stared at him. Grumbled. Why should they fight? One of them
wept over it, called himself too old--.

But there were young men among them. "For God's sake get out of
this--let me help you get out." The General stood up, leaned on his
cane. "Look here, I've done a lot of things in my time--things like
this--" his arm swept out towards the table, "and now I've only one
good foot--the other will never be alive again. But you young chaps,
you've got two good feet--to march. Do you know what that means, to
march? Left, right, left, right and step out bravely--. Yankee Doodle
and your heads up, flags flying? And you sit here like this?"

Two of the men had risen, young and strong. The General's cane
pounded--he had their eyes! "Left, right, left, right--all over the
world men are marching, a