But Ruth slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “If I go over there it must be to work for our own boys. They are going. They will need us. I want to do my all for Uncle Sam—for these United States—and,” she added, pointing to Uncle Jabez’s flag upon the pole in front of the Red Mill farmhouse, “for the blessed old flag. I am sorry for the wounded of our allies; but the time has come now for us to think of the needs of our own soldiers first. They are going over. First our regular army and the guard; then the boys of the draft.”
“Ah, yes! The boys of the draft,” sighed Helen.
Suddenly Ruth seized her chum’s wrist. “I’ve got it, Helen! That is it! ‘The boys of the draft.’”
“Goodness! What’s the matter with you now?” demanded Helen, wide-eyed.
“We will screen it. It will be great!” cried Ruth. “I’ll go and see Mr. Hammond at once. I can write the scenario in a few days, and it will not take long to film it. The story of the draft, and what the Red Cross can and will do for the boys over there. Put it on the screen and show it wherever a Red Cross drive is made during the next few months. We’ll do it, Helen!”
“Oh! Yes! We’ll—do—it!” gasped her chum breathlessly. “You mean that you will do it and that I haven’t the first idea of what it is you mean to do.”
“Of course you have. A big film called ‘The Boys of the Draft,’ taking a green squad right through their training from the very first day they are in camp. Fake the French and war scenes, of course, but show the spectators just what may and will happen over there and what the Red Cross will do for the brave hearts who fight for the country.”
Ruth was excited. No doubt of that. Her cheeks burned. Her eyes shone. She gestured vigorously.
“I know you don’t see it as I do, honey,” she added. “I can visualize the whole thing right now. And Helen!”
“Goodness, yes!” gasped Helen. “What now?”