ther Fragini has attached himself to the regiment while it rests
in barracks a few hours' march from the frontier. He is accepted as the
mascot of the company in which both his grandson and Stransky are
serving. But he never speaks to Stransky and refers to him in the third
person as "that traitor," which makes Stransky grin sardonically. Each
day's developments bring more color to his cheeks; his rheumatic old
legs are limbering with the elixir of rising patriotism, though Tom and
his comrades are singularly without enthusiasm, according to
grandfather's idea. They lead the newspapers gluttonously and they
welcome each item that promises a peaceful solution of the crisis.

Inwardly, Grandfather Fragini is worried about the state of the army. Is
his race becoming decadent? Or, as he puts it, are the younger
generation without sand in their craws? When he came into the barracks
yard swinging his cap aloft and shouting the news that mobilization had
begun there was not even a cheer.

"I suppose it means war," said Tom Fragini with a soberness that was in
keeping with the grave faces of his fellows. Stransky sitting at one
side by himself smiled.

"Well, you'd think it was a funeral!" grandfather exclaimed in disgust.

"There will be lots of funerals!" said Tom.

"I s'pose there will be; but if you get that in your mind how can you
fight?" grandfather demanded. "Why, if any Hussar had spoken of funerals
we'd called him white-livered, that's what we would! We cheered till we
was hoarse; we danced and hugged one another; we rattled our sabres in
our scabbards; we sang rip-roaring death-or-glory songs. When you're
going to war you want to sing and shout. That's the way to keep your
spirits up."

"Let's sing 'Ring-around-the-rosy' to please the old gentleman. Come
on!" suggested Stransky.

"I don't see that we are after either death or glory," said Tom. "We are
going to do our duty."

The impulse of enthusiasm seemed equally lacking in the others. Stransky
grinned and his deep-set eyes turned inward with a squint of knowing
satisfaction at the bony bridge of his nose.

"I'm not wanting any traitor to start any songs for me!" declared
grandfather.

"Never mind. The fellows on the other side aren't any more enthusiastic
than we are, grandfather," Stransky said soothingly, in his mocking way.
"The fact is, we don't want to kill our brothers across the frontier and
they don't want to kill us or be killed. It's only the