fingers, "Now Jim, you need me. A woman can't love a man her best unless
she can help him. Against everything--sorrow, mosquitoes, bad
food--drink--any old bother. That's the alluring side of tipplers. Women
want to help them. So, now I know you need me," the soft, unsteady voice
wandered on, and Jim, anchored between, the hands, drank in her look
with his eyes and her tones with his ears and prayed that the situation
might last a week. "You need me so, to tell you how much finer you are
than if you'd gone off without a quiver."

Barlow sighed in contentment. "And me thinking I was the solitary
'fraid-cat of America!"

"Solitary! Why, Jim, there must be at least ten hundred thousand men
going through this same battle. All the ones old enough to think,
probably. Why Jim--you're only one of them. In that speech the other
night the man said this war was giving men their souls. I think it's
your kind he meant, the kind that realizes the bad things over there and
the good things over here and goes just the same. The kind--you are."

"I'm a hero from Hero-ville," murmured Barlow. "But little Mary, when I
come back mangled will you feel the same? Will you marry me then, Mary?"

"I'll marry you any minute," stated Mary, "and when you come back I'll
love you one extra for every mangle."

"Any minute," repeated Barlow dramatically. "Tomorrow?"

And summed up again the heaven that he could not understand and did not
want to, "Search me," he adjured the skies in good Americanese, "if
girls aren't the blamedest."