"You got something, Sammy, to break to me. I can read you like a book."
"I'm done. If I can't talk facts over with you without your going to pieces this way, I'm done. I quit."
She clasped her hands, her face pleading up to him. "Sammy, what is it?
If you don't tell me, I can't stand it. Sammy?"
"Will you sit quiet and not get excited?"
"Please, Sammy, I will."
"It's this: you see, ma, the way the draft goes. When a fellow's called to war, drafted, he's got to go, no questions asked. But when a fellow enlists for war, volunteers, you see, before the government calls him, then thataway he can pick out for himself the thing he wants to be in the army. Y'see? And then maybe the thing he picks out for himself can keep him right here at home. Y'see, ma—so he don't have to go away. See the point?"
"You mean when a boy enlists he offers himself instead of gets offered."
"Exactly."
"You got something behind all this. You mean you—you want to enlist."
"Now, ma—you see, if I was to enlist—and stay right here in this country—with you near the camp or, as long as it's too rough life for you, with—with Clara there—a woman to look in on—"