Jimmie pressed his advantage.
“There’s just one thing you got to do, colonel,” he declared, “you got to break prison.”
“To—”
“Yep. To—to absquatulate. To run away.”
“Jimmie! I—”
“Wait a second. I’m the general and this is a council of war. You got to run away. I’ve planned it all out. And I’ve planned where you’ve got to run away to.”
“Where, general?” asked Dad in mild amusement as the boy paused for dramatic effect. “To sea, or the North Pole, or—”
“To the front!”
“Don’t, son!” expostulated Dad in sharp pain. “Don’t talk that way.”
“Why not? You said you’d stay here because you thought you could be of use to mother. Well, you see what kind of use you are to her and how much she’d miss you if you were gone. Say, Dad—colonel—honest, I hate like poison to hurt your feelings by talking like that, but it’s true. So why don’t you hike out for the front? You’re crazy to go to the war. Just as I am. Only, you can do it and I can’t. No one’s got the right to stop you or pack you back to school.”