"How do you know you won't run when the time comes?" asked the youth.

"Run?" said the loud one; "run?--of course not!" He laughed.

"Well," continued the youth, "lots of good-a-'nough men have
thought they was going to do great things before the fight,
but when the time come they skedaddled."

"Oh, that's all true, I s'pose," replied the other; "but I'm not
going to skedaddle. The man that bets on my running will lose
his money, that's all." He nodded confidently.

"Oh, shucks!" said the youth. "You ain't the bravest man in
the world, are you?"

"No, I ain't," exclaimed the loud soldier indignantly;
"and I didn't say I was the bravest man in the world, neither.
I said I was going to do my share of fighting--that's what I said.
And I am, too. Who are you, anyhow? You talk as if you thought
you was Napoleon Bonaparte." He glared at the youth for a moment,
and then strode away.

The youth called in a savage voice after his comrade: "Well, you
needn't git mad about it!" But the other continued on his way
and made no reply.

He felt alone in space when his injured comrade had disappeared.
His failure to discover any mite of resemblance in their viewpoints
made him more miserable than before. No one seemed to be wrestling
with such a terrific personal problem. He was a mental outcast.