A younger woman—brave in yellow organdy with red ribbons—at sight of the kiss broke into unrestrained weeping and threw her arms about the neck of a man in the next rank—the husband she had married but three months earlier and who was never to see their child.
In the instant a score of women had invaded the carefully aligned ranks; and the sound of strangled weeping rose clamorously to high heaven.
“Company, attention!” bellowed a right-amateurish militia captain. “Carry arms! Present arms! Left shoulder—arms! Forrerd—march!”
The funeral had passed. Once more the fife-and-drum corps and the Ideala Cornet Band—still a half-beat at variance—struck up “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
The invading women scuttled back to the sidewalk, crying and protesting. The two companies caught step and moved forward with their former stiff and unaccustomed stride.
And so down the street they passed, and to the wharf, where awaited the river transport that was to bear them to the recruiting camp at Columbus.
The occasion was over. Some of the crowd followed the soldiers to the river. The rest broke into oddly silent and disorganized groups and melted away.
Dad, tightening his grip on Jimmie’s hand, turned out of Main Street and set his face toward the big house on the hill—his assigned post of war duty.
Mrs. Joseph Brinton had not been in the throng on the sidewalks. She did not like crowds. They made her head ache. Nor did she believe in public exhibition of one’s feelings. So her good-by to her professionally patriotic husband had occurred behind closed doors in the big house, an hour earlier.
Dad and Jimmie had taken up a strategic position on the most promising street corner, however, and had seen everything. The old man was curiously silent as they turned away. But the boy was bubbling over with words and excitement.