Enlist! It's the only thing left for me."

Mr. Fentolin was shocked.

"My dear boy!" he exclaimed. "You must not talk like that! I am
quite sure that it would break your mother's heart. Enlist, indeed!
Nothing of the sort. You are part of the civilian population of
the country."

"Civilian population be d-d!" the boy suddenly cried, white with
rage. "Uncle, forgive me, I have stood all I can bear. If you
won't let me go in for the army--I could pass my exams to-morrow
--I'm off. I'll enlist without waiting for the war. I can't bear
this idle life any longer."

Mr. Fentolin leaned a little forward in his chair.

"Gerald!" he said softly.

The boy turned his head, turned it unwillingly. He had the air of
a caged animal obeying the word of his keeper. A certain savage
uncouthness seemed to have fallen upon him during the last few
minutes. There was something almost like a snarl in his expression.

"Gerald!" Mr. Fentolin repeated.

Then it was obvious that there was something between those two, some
memory or some living thing, seldom, if ever, to be spoken of, and
yet always present. The boy began to tremble.