“When are you goin’?” he asked, as casually as if it were to Beulah for the evening mail.
“This morning,” said Mauney.
“How are you going to get there?” Bard continued, in ominous calmness.
“I thought perhaps Snowball would drive me down,” said Mauney, uncertain at what instant to expect a volcano of abuse.
For a moment or two Bard stood thoughtfully by the window, evidently weighing the situation.
“Well, Maun, I tell yuh,” he said at length. “There ain’t no chanct in the world of ’em takin’ a kid like you. But I guess maybe the best way to cure you is to let you go down and get it over with. When you get down there and see the hull outfit lined up you’ll change yer mind, anyhow. Tell yuh what I’ll do. I’ll let Snowball and you off fer the day. Snowball’s gettin’ kind o’ stale on the job, too, and maybe a drive to Lockwood would sort o’ brace him up. But, mind, I don’t want to hear no more damned nonsense after you get home, understand me.”
At noon that day old Charlie, covered with lather from the twenty-mile journey, drew Mauney and the hired man into the town of Lockwood. Mauney sat leaning back, absent-mindedly watching the road, while Snowball held the reins and occasionally touched the horse’s flanks with the whip.
A great weight had fallen from Mauney’s shoulders the moment they had passed out of his father’s farmyard and, during the drive in the sultry morning air, his imagination had moved quickly. He felt the great doors of the world opening to receive him. He felt that he was proceeding now into the mystery of real life long denied him. The war was truly a secondary consideration. He knew nothing about the practical side of campaigning. Dimly, though, he fancied that once he reached the Lockwood armouries, some one there would take him admiringly by the hand with expressions of welcome and commendation for his noble decision.
When they had passed along King Street they came to the wide green upon whose upper portion reposed the grey stone armouries with its mullioned windows, its turrets, its scalloped parapets, and its tall flag-pole bearing a huge flag that floated lazily in the breeze. A dozen men in ordinary clothes stood in several groups near the huge doorway, while an occasional soldier in uniform walked stiffly across the lawn to disappear beneath the arch. After noting that his suitcase was safely bestowed in the bottom of the buggy, Mauney got out and adjusted his tie and soft hat.
“Snowball,” he said, “you stay here till I come back. I’m going to see if this is where to enlist.”