It was toward noon on the fourth day of their stay–a Tuesday; they remembered that afterward. The crowd had been for a hike to Lost Mine, and, returning, had dawdled lazily, for the air was almost oppressively balmy. Dale, Ranny, and Court Parker were considerably ahead of the others, and as they reached the parade-ground they came suddenly upon Harry Vedder, whose turn it had been to fetch the mail and paper. The plump boy’s face was flushed and moist; his expression fairly exuded importance.
“Well!” he stated, without waiting for them to speak. “It’s come.”
Ranny stared. “Come?” he repeated. “What are you talking about, Dumpling? What’s come?”
Vedder puffed out his fat cheeks. “War!” he said solemnly.
For an instant no one spoke. Dale felt a queer, tingling thrill go through him. The thing seemed unreal, impossible. Somehow these past few weeks of delay and hesitation had thrust the idea farther and farther into the background of his mind. He caught a glimpse of Parker’s face, dazed and incredulous.
“What!” gasped Ranny. “You mean with–”
“Yep,” nodded Vedder. “The President made a fine speech last night to Congress, or something. I heard ’em talking about it at the post-office. Everybody’s as excited as the dickens. I guess it’s in all the papers, too, only Mr. Curtis’s wasn’t open.”
Dale’s eyes sought headquarters tent. Under the rolled-up flap he could see the scoutmaster sitting on his cot, his head bent intently over an outspread paper. Again that curious tingling went through the boy. Behind him the shouts and laughter of the approaching crowd seemed suddenly incongruous and out of place. He glanced again at Vedder, whose round face still radiated self-importance, and wondered how the boy could look so smug and complacent.
“Did Congress declare war?” asked Ranny, abruptly.
“I dunno; I guess so. They’re going to raise a whopping army. I heard one man say everybody from nineteen to twenty-five would have to go.”