"That I'm going into the ranks, and see if I am a coward—" he paused and scowled—"it looked like it yesterday for a while, and my curiosity's aroused. Besides, the country happens to need me."
"Rubbish," the editor cried, "the country will get all the men it needs without you. You're a trained newspaper man. We need you here."
"Thanks. My mind's made up. I'm going to Missouri and raise a company."
The chief laid a hand on John's shoulder. "Don't be a fool. Stand by the ship. I'll put your damned story in just as you wrote it if that's what hurts."
John flushed and shook his head:
"But it isn't. You may be right about the stuff. If I were editor I'd kill it myself. No. My dander's up. I want a little taste of the real thing. I saw enough yesterday to interest me. The country's calling and I've got to go."
The boys crowded around him and shook hands. From the door he waved his good-bye and they shouted in chorus:
"Good luck!"
Arrived at his room, he wrote a note to Betty Winter. He read it over and it seemed foolishly cold and formal. He tore it up and wrote a simpler one. It was flippant and a little presumptuous. He destroyed that and decided on a single line:
"My Dear Miss Betty: