David put a hand on my arm, and on his other side drew Knudsen a little closer to him, as if for support. “Then, father, I want a Ford!”
“A Ford?” cried his father. A Ford! thought I—a four hundred dollar car when he might spend his thousands?
“Yes,” said David, a little unsteadily. “I want to learn to take one apart and put it together, and then I want you to send another Ford ambulance to France, with me to drive it.”
A glorious smile broke over the father’s face, of pride, and fondness, yet also of possible sacrifice of this son who was now first showing his manhood—for there is danger in that ambulance service. I saw the story was true that Mr. Farnham has been sending ambulances abroad; and saw also that David had been afraid of his father’s opposition to a scheme which he had been hatching in secret. So he had felt the need of my support and Knudsen’s. But the father held out both hands to his boy, and Knudsen and I slipped quietly out of the tent and walked together, without saying a word, down to the edge of the drill-field.
Said Knudsen then: “Since it’s settled now, that silly mother can’t interfere.”
I was feeling pleased that though at first I had studiously neglected David, he had needed me now. Knudsen’s mind travelled much the same road.
“A good investment,” he said, “the trouble we’ve put into that youngster.”
I had a little talk with Mr. Farnham before the train went. He was overflowing with happiness. David had somehow got the idea of service, and unknown to us had been planning his life by it. First to help in this emergency in France, then to find some way in which a rich man could give his time to his country, in some branch of public service. It was fixed in his mind that next summer he must be at Plattsburg again, working for a commission in the reserve. Beyond that he would need his father’s advice and help.
“So there’s something more in life for me now,” said the father, “than the mere making of money.”
It was in the midst of all the hurry and confusion of our getting ready to go that I heard a great shouting at the head of the street, and going to see, found the captain there, and Vera watching from a little distance. He had come to take personal leave of those he knew best, shook hands with every one, called scores of us by name, thanked us all for our help in his work, showed in his face his great new happiness. When those who pressed upon him first had gone away, driven by the necessity that was on all of them, he called me to him and made me promise not to leave with the rest, but at least to stay overnight—for we were to be brothers now, he said, and must know each other better before we separated. While a new group came and talked with him I went to Vera.