His curiosity was touched. "Who was that?"
"I'm not going to tell you. I'll only say that she likes you, and that—"
"Was it Hildred Ansley?"
"Well, if you're bound to know, it was. If you want to talk to someone who wishes you well, go and—"
"Did she put you up to this?"
"No, she didn't. You put me up to it yourself. I tell you again, I'm going to see you go straight till I see you go straight into the army. You ought to go in with a commission. But if you're fired out of Harvard they'll be shy of enlisting you as a private. If you won't play the game of your own accord, I'll make you."
With hands thrust into his trousers' pockets, Tad began to pace the room, doing a kind of goose-step. His compressed lips made little grimaces like those of a man forcing himself to decisions hard to swallow. For a good four or five minutes Tom watched the struggle between his top-loftiness and his common-sense. While common-sense insisted on his climbing down, top-loftiness told him that he must save his face. When he spoke at last his voice was hoarse, his throat constricted.
"If it's going to be war I'll be in it with both feet. But I'll do it on my own. See? You mind your business, and I'll mind mine."
Tom was reasonable. "That'll be all right—if you mind it."