“Just that and right he’d be, too,” Don replied. “But I think the determination to win out now is somewhat different from anything I have previously experienced; you’ll have to admit it has more pep to it than any game we ever got into.”
“I will admit that,” Herbert said.
“For back of it is that primal love of life. We are willing to sacrifice everything rather than miss the glory of fighting on until we’re done for, but yet, Herb, it’s kind of sweet to think of living to do something worth while; to make an effort to gain happiness. You know I’m quoting a little from the principal’s last commencement address.”
“And yet I know as well as that I’m lying here on a hard rock that it’s a hard, cold fact that nobody could induce you to surrender,” argued Herb.
“Perfectly right, old man. If there were ten thousand Jerries, as the boys call them, going to rush us in ten minutes I would want to stay right here and give it to ’em until our cartridges were all gone.”
“Do you remember young Gaylord at Brighton, Don?”
“Remember him? Who doesn’t? You’re going to refer to the fact that he was generally considered a softy; that he was so blamed gentle that every one looked for him to burst into tears at any trying moment; aren’t you?”
“Yes, but you know what he did once; don’t you?”
“You mean standing off those burglars?”
“Just that,” said Herbert. “They tortured him horribly for an hour to make him tell where Grant, his roommate, kept his money hid—a lot of it—and did Gaylord tell? Not he! He refused and made mental notes of the men; they were arrested and sent up on it.”