Shirley had entered the service as an enthusiastic youth. In a few brief years he had grown to a serious-minded man. A six-footer, deep-chested, broad of shoulders, he had the physical ability to enforce the decrees and orders of his superiors while the general terms of boundaries were being formulated. Patiently and firmly he worked with the peasantry of any district where he was assigned to gain their confidence and earn the praise of his superiors. On July 2nd, 1921, his nation and the others interested having completed the general terms of boundaries and occupation, the service by regulatory groups was ended. Shirley Wells had been gratified in earning a commission, now he was happy indeed to know that he was to return to civilian pursuits, for he might have to work out some peace terms in his home town.
More than eighteen months ago, while his regiment was resting after an effective foray against the enemy in the vicinity of Lyons, he received a letter informing him of the death of his father and indicating that a telegram had been sent. He never received the telegram, and judging by a lack of replies to his letters, he doubted that one had been sent.
Now he was an orphan. In letters from friends he learned that his elder brother, Carson, was in charge of the family bank at Bransford, a suburb of Chicago, and that he was connected with active interests in that city. He learned, too, that Carson now lived in the ancient but beautiful home formerly occupied by his parents. What about the boys and girls with whom he was associated in school days? Was Loretta Young married? Was the strong little bank, the pride of two generations, still rendering the service that had made it famous? And what of the other family assets? This returning soldier was deeply involved in the complications that come to all veterans who are hastily transferred back to civilian duties and are to encounter the radical changes that have been made to maintain a vast fighting force in distant lands.
However, Shirley Wells noted little difference in conditions in the cities of Washington and Chicago as he hastened homeward. Buildings and streets appeared about as usual but the general populace appeared indifferent and unconcerned. Unemployment prevailed, but he seemed to contact more women in business places than he did in former days.
At Chicago he transferred to the morning local for Bransford. He was disappointed that he found no old-time acquaintances among those who were bound for the suburbs. The first person to recognize him was the station agent at Bransford and his greeting was casual as he trundled the truck of empty milk cans to the far end of the platform. "Maybe these London tweeds are taboo in this central zone," he grumbled as he made his way up the shaded street to the business district.
At the bank, he planned to walk right up to the receiver's window and ask old Powell if this was Tellson's bank and was Mr. Tellson in? As a schoolboy he had often kidded the aged cashier as to the close resemblance of these quarters to the little, gloomy, narrow affair described by author Dickens as being located at Temple Bar in the city of London. But the aged cashier's place was occupied by an alert young man who asked to be of service and Shirley could only inquire if Carson was in.
The aged woman working at a filing cabinet turned quickly when she heard the voice of the inquirer. She walked to the counter to get a better view. "Why, it's Shirley!" she cried as she ran out in the corridor. "It's Shirley!—twice as big!" She made ineffective attempts to hug and caress the big man, who laughingly lifted her up to plant a kiss on either cheek. "That's the first—and best—welcome I've had since I landed in America, Aunt Carrie," said he. "Now I feel that I am home."
Carson Wells came from the little private room at the rear. The greetings of the brothers were not so effusive. Shirley was invited to the private room by his brother.
"I want to loaf around for a week or two," the veteran explained. "I want to hunt up a few old friends and hear 'em detail the awful experiences they suffered during the war. If you can find me a temporary hangout where I can store some keepsakes while I get myself oriented, it will be quite all right."
"The housing situation is a little tight just now," said Carson, "but we should be able to find quarters somewhere. The Grand Union is badly congested of weekends and rooming houses are full up. I live in the three west rooms of our old home and Mr. Breen and his family occupy the rest. However, there's plenty of room at the farmhouse, and Davis, the tenant, certainly needs a lot of personal supervision, the way things have been going lately. At times I have felt that I should share the big house at the farm but my wife protests—"