The young man wiped from his eyes the sudden moisture that dimmed his sight, and went on with the reading of the list. It was not a long one. There were some surprises, but there was no demonstration. For the most part the reading was greeted with the silence of intense earnestness. And the very last name on the list was the name of Rhett Bannister. The schoolmaster’s hand grasping the paper fell to his side. For an instant no one spoke. Then a man shouted, “Hurrah for the draft!” and another one cried, “Uncle Sam’s got him now!” and then, amid the confusion of voices, men were heard everywhere congratulating one another on the drafting of Rhett Bannister.
With flushed face Bob started for the door, and the crowd parted to let him pass. But outside he ran into a group of his schoolmates, the same boys who had court-martialed him and dismissed him in disgrace from their company three months before.
“Old man got struck with lightnin’ this time, didn’t he, Bob?” called out Sam Powers.
“He’ll skedaddle for Pike County when he hears about it,” added “Brilly.” “Better run home an’ tell him, quick.”
“He don’t dare to,” responded Sam. “I’ll dare you,” he continued, shaking his forefinger in Bob’s face, “to go home an’ tell your copperhead dad he’s drafted!”
“Aw, shucks!” exclaimed Bill Hinkle. “You fellows are smart, ain’t you! Let him alone. He ain’t done nothin’ to you. Aw, shucks!”
And then Bob got angry.
“It’s none o’ you fellows’ business,” he said, “whether my father’s drafted or not. You’re bullies an’ cowards, the whole lot of you! Get out o’ my way!”
And so, with flashing eye, heaving breast, erect head, he passed through the crowd of boys untouched. Awed and silenced by his outburst of wrath, they dared not molest him. But, as he went down the road through the gathering twilight toward his home, he began to wonder if, after all, Sam Powers was not right. Would he dare to tell his father?