"Who will take the school, sir?" the head boy asked.
The old reservist looked down at the school, a somber fire glowing in his eyes. His gaze caught those of his pupils, one after the other. Some were bewildered, some eager, but all were alight with the response of enthusiasm.
He put both hands on his desk and leaned far forward, impressively.
"I wonder if I can trust you?" he said.
An expression of wounded pride flashed over the faces of several of the older boys.
"Not one of you can realize," the master continued, speaking in a low tense tone which none of the lads had ever heard him use before, "just what war means. It spells horrors such as cannot be imagined. It turns men into beasts, or—" he paused, "into heroes. There is no middle ground. There is patriotism and there is treachery. Either, one deserves trust, which is honor; or one does not deserve trust, which is infamy."
He looked at the boys again.
"I wonder if I can trust you?" he repeated.
"Trust us, sir!" shouted a dozen voices.
"Do you dare ask it," he replied, "knowing that any one who fails or breaks his trust will be a traitor?"