“Margaret dear,” he said, “I’ve got to go. Thanks for everything, and for the hope and all, and—and I may never see you again, but if I do, will you give me my answer then?”
“I will,” said Margaret, “when I see you again.”
They rose.
“May I kiss you, Margaret?” he said.
“Certainly, Peter.”
He kissed her on the cheek, and went away with her tears on his lips.
A newly organized fife-and-drum corps marched by struggling with “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
In those days the most strangled rendering of that tune would bring lumps into the throats of those that heard.