“Not the slightest, my boy. But if you really want to serve your country, I’ll tell you what you can do. You can enlist. We need men and we’ll be glad to have you. Any recruiting officer will take your application. That’s all, isn’t it?”
“I guess so; yes, sir.”
“Very well, good-morning! Let in the next man, corporal.”
Bob left the office in a daze. The hope that for two days had lain next his heart, was suddenly blasted. He hardly knew what to do or which way to turn. He walked out through the crowd of waiting men, but he scarcely saw them, nor did they notice him. It was too common a sight in these days to see disappointed men leaving the marshal’s office, for any one to comment on this particular boy’s downcast look or halting step. He went out into the October sunlight, and, threading his way through throngs of citizens and soldiers, he walked down the eastern side of the public square. Well, it was all over. He had failed. His errand had simply served to emphasize his father’s disloyalty. What now? Should he go home, or— The marshal had said something about his enlisting, anyway. How would that work? He had wandered into the street leading to the bridge across the Delaware. Suddenly he was aware that a man in soldier’s uniform, whom he had just met and passed, had stopped and turned and was calling to him. Bob faced about and looked. In an instant he recognized the soldier as Sergeant Anderson, who had arrested him and marched him off to Sarah Jane Stark’s house for breakfast.
“Are you Bob Bannister?” asked the sergeant.
“Yes,” replied Bob, “and you are Sergeant Anderson.”
“Exactly. But what in the world are you doing here?”
“Why, I came here last night to— Well, I might as well tell you; I thought they would let me substitute for my father.”
“Oh, no! I don’t believe you could do that. Have you seen Captain Yohe?”