He found himself growing disconsolate and despondent. Summer seemed ages away. And when at last it should come—what would happen then? He could see her only when properly chaperoned, only when Mother, and probably Googoo, were present. He flew for consolation to the Muse and the Muse refused to console. The poems he wrote were “blue” and despairing likewise. Consequently they did not sell. He was growing desperate, ready for anything. And something came. Germany delivered to our Government its arrogant mandate concerning unlimited submarine warfare. A long-suffering President threw patience overboard and answered that mandate in unmistakable terms. Congress stood at his back and behind them a united and indignant people. The United States declared war upon the Hun.
South Harniss, like every other community, became wildly excited. Captain Zelotes Snow's gray eyes flashed fiery satisfaction. The flags at the Snow place and at the lumber yard flew high night and day. He bought newspapers galore and read from them aloud at meals, in the evenings, and before breakfast. Issachar, as usual, talked much and said little. Laban Keeler's comments were pithy and dryly pointed. Albert was very quiet.
But one forenoon he spoke. Captain Lote was in the inner office, the morning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed the door behind him. The captain looked up.
“Well, Al, what is it?” he asked.
Albert came over and stood beside the desk. The captain, after a moment's scrutiny of the young man's face, put down his newspaper.
“Well, Al?” he said, again.
Albert seemed to find it hard to speak.
“Grandfather,” he began, “I—I—Grandfather, I have come to ask a favor of you.”
The captain nodded, slowly, his gaze fixed upon his grandson's face.
“All right; heave ahead,” he said quietly.