At three o'clock the printed list was complete, and the notices were being made up.
"So your uncle's in for it, Rob!" exclaimed a voice at his side.
"No, you're mistaken. I listened to every name."
"Here it is,—Robert Conover!"
Rob followed the grimy finger down the list. Sure enough! His heart stood still for a moment.
"He will get a sub, though! He'd be a fool to go when he's rich enough to stay at home!"
"Yes, that's it!" and a burly fellow turned, facing them with a savage frown. "It's the poor man this 'ere thing comes hard on! Rich men are all cowards! They kin stay to hum and nuss themselves in the chimbly-corner. I say they're cowards!"
Rob's heart swelled within him for a twofold reason. First, the shock. He had not been able to believe that the draft would touch them, and the surprise was very great. Then to have his uncle called a coward! All the boy's hot, unreasoning indignation was ablaze.
"He is not!" he answered, fiercely.