“But I can’t do it!” said Velo violently, a red flush mounting to his forehead. “I simply can’t do it! Why, my uncle died last night, and unless we find his son I am the only heir. I have got to stay here. I am the heir doubtless.”
“That’s fine!” said the officer, smiling. “In case you are shot, which is likely, all your property will revert to the crown. Greece is going to need all she can raise. I hope your uncle is rich.”
Velo could not keep from boasting.
“One of the richest men in the country!” he bragged.
“Fine, fine!” said the officer. Then his manner changed. “Now, my boy, your name and address. This is straight. We need you.”
Velo mumbled his name, a deadly fear growing in him. He was a coward and the thought of bloodshed filled him with a cold, deadly terror.
He regarded the Lieutenant with staring eyes. His teeth chattered.
The young officer smiled. He called two soldiers.
“Take this man to the South Barracks,” he said coldly. “Under guard,” he added significantly. He knew men. He saw that the boy before him would have to be whipped into shape. He thought of a recruit made the day before. Zaidos his name was. He remembered with respect and appreciation the manner of the lad. He looked once more at the new recruit. Then he took a piece of paper from his desk, wrote one word on it, addressed it “Officer in Command at South Recruiting Station,” handed it to one of the soldiers standing beside Velo, and turned away. For him the incident was closed.
But Velo, feeling as though he was under arrest, walked miserably and fearfully through the streets, a soldier on either side, wondering with all his might what was written in the folded paper.