Issachar struck the reassuring note. “Don't fret about things in the office,” he said. “I'll look out for 'em long's I keep my health.”
“Be sure and keep that, Issy.”
“You bet you! Only thing that's liable to break it down is over-work.”
Captain Zelotes said very little. “Write us when you can, Al,” he said. “And come home whenever you get leave.”
“You may be sure of that, Grandfather. And after I get to camp perhaps you can come and see me.”
“Maybe so. Will if I can. . . . Well, Al, I . . . I. . . . Good luck to you, son.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
They shook hands. Each looked as if there was more he would have liked to say but found the saying hard. Then the engine bell rang and the hands fell apart. The little group on the station platform watched the train disappear. Mrs. Snow and Rachel wiped their eyes with their handkerchiefs. Captain Zelotes gently patted his wife's shoulder.
“The team's waitin', Mother,” he said. “Labe'll drive you and Rachel home.”
“But—but ain't you comin', too, Zelotes?” faltered Olive. Her husband shook his head.