Bob Cook had been among the crowds, and his young mind and heart were
fired with patriotism and enthusiasm. A company of soldiers from the
Thirty-ninth Infantry called out the week before had caused him to
cheer and hurl his cap high in the air, while all the time he envied
the men in khaki.

"I hate to think of you enlisting, Harold," said Mrs. Cook sadly.

"Why?" demanded Harold earnestly. "Don't you think it is my duty to
offer my services to my country! I'm free; no one is dependent upon me."

"I know," agreed his mother, "but somehow I don't like to have my boy go
over to France and be killed. Let some one else go."

"Suppose every one said that," exclaimed Harold. "We shouldn't have much
of an army and our country wouldn't be very well defended, would it?"

"Let him go," said Mr. Cook quietly to his wife. "I don't want him killed
any more than you do, but there are some things worse than that. Suppose
he was afraid to go; you'd be ashamed of your son then I know."

"How do you know I'm going to get killed anyway?" demanded Harold. "Every
one that goes to war doesn't get killed. At any rate it's sort of
gruesome to sit up and hear your family talk as if you were just as good
as dead already."

"True enough," laughed Mr. Cook. "When does your examination come?"

"Next Monday."