s the flowers that
bloom in the Spring. There was something too, in the way that the sun
moved down which bespoke Spring.

But the surest sign of all was the flood of applications for cabin
accommodations at Temple Camp; that was just as sure and reliable as the
first croaking of the frogs or the softening of the rich, thick mud in
Barrel Alley, where Tom had spent his childhood.

He moved over to where Miss Margaret Ellison sat at her machine. Mr.
Burton, manager of the Temple Camp office, had told Tom that the only
way to acquire confidence and readiness of speech was to formulate what
he wished to say and to say it, without depending on any one else, and
to this good advice, Peewee Harris, mascot of Tom's Scout Troop had made
the additional suggestion, that it was good to say it whether you had
anything to say or not, on the theory, I suppose, that if you cannot
shoot bullets, it is better to shoot blank cartridges than nothing at
all.

CHAPTER II

HE SENDS A LETTER

"Help him, but encourage him to be self-confident; let him take
responsibilities. He understands everything well enough; all he needs is
to get a grip on himself." That is what Mr. Burton had told Margaret
Ellison, and Margaret Ellison, being a girl, understood better than all
the army surgeons in the country.

You see how it was; they had made a wreck of Tom Slade's nerves as a
trifling incidental to making the world safe for democracy. He started
at every little noise, he broke down in the middle of his talk, he
hesitated to cross the street alone, he shuddered at the report of a
bursting tire on some unlucky auto. He had never been at ease in the
presence of girls, and he was now less at ease than before he had gone
away.

He had fought for nearly two years and Uncle Sam liked him so much that
he could not bring himself to part company with him, until by hook or
crook, Mr. Burton and Mr. Temple managed to get him discharged and put
him in the way of finding himself at his old job in Temple Camp office.
It was a great relief to him not to have to salute lieutenants any more.
The shot and shell he did not mind, but his arm was weary with saluting
lieutenants. It was the dream of Tom Slade's life never to see another
lieutenant as long as he lived.

He leaned against the table near Miss Margaret Ellison and said, "I--I
want--I have to send a letter to a troop that's in Ohio--in a place
called--called Dansburg. Shall I dic--shall I say