boys at the war, and other men's boys?"

"Rather not. My God, Dad, if I thought--! But what's the use talking?
They know in London all about the Ambulance Equipment and the Machine
Gun Battery, and the Hospital. Do you know why Caramus took a job in
the Permanent Force in England? It was either that or blowing out his
brains. He could not face his father, a war millionaire. My God, how
could he?"

The boy was walking about his room with face white and lips quivering.

"Caramus was in charge of that Machine Gun Section that held the line
and let us get back. Every man wiped out, and Caramus carried back
smashed to small pieces--and his father making a million out of
munitions! My God! My God!"

A silence fell in the room for a minute.

"Poor old Caramus! I saw him in the City a month ago," said the father.
"I pitied the poor wretch. He was alone in the Club, not a soul would
speak to him. He has got his hell."

"He deserves it--all of it, and all who like him have got fat on blood
money. Do you know, Dad, when I see those men going about in the open
and no one kicking them I get fairly sick. I don't wonder at some of the
boys seeing red. You mark my words, we are going to have bad times in
this country before long."

"I am afraid of it, boy. Things look ugly. Even in our own works I feel
a bad spirit about. There are some newcomers from the old country whom I