“But, Joe, I know these people. I know what their aspirations are, and I know they are sincere. Their leaders are my friends. How could I give orders to shoot them down?”
Brownell sprang from his chair. At last his patience was exhausted.
“Friends!” he shouted savagely. “Your friends! These thugs! These would-be murderers! And your own captain their first victim! Why, you cringing coward you, your blood ought to boil in your veins when you think of the crimes of which these traitors have been and want to be guilty. Friends! Heaven save the mark!”
Hal did not get angry; he could not. He knew that Brownell was castigating him because he loved him. He dropped into a chair by the table and rested his head in his hands and was silent. Then his comrade, knowing that he was suffering, took pity on him, and came over and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
“Forgive me, old man!” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. The thing got on my nerves and I had to let go. But you’re dead wrong. You’re in command of this company, and you’ve got to take it out.”
McCormack looked up wearily.
“At the risk,” he said, “of leading it into disaster and disgrace? Why do you compel me to face such a temptation as this?”
Brownell’s hand tightened on Hal’s shoulder.
“Because,” he replied, “I know you and trust you. I know what things lie at the bottom of your heart; red blood, pure patriotism, soldierly pride, the honor of a gentleman. I was never so little afraid of anything in my life as I am that you will either disgrace us, or dishonor yourself.”
The first lieutenant did not reply. He was about to say something, but his lips trembled, his eyes filled with tears, and he dropped his head again into his hands and was silent.