I then gave him a talking-to, saying that he had been a great disapointment, as I thought one should rise to the Country’s Call and not wait until actualy needed, even when an only son.
He made no defence, but said in a serious tone:
“You see, it’s like this. I am not sure of myself, Bab. I don’t want to enlist because others of the Male Sex, as you would say, are enlisting and I’m ashamed not to. And I don’t want to enlist just to wear a Unaform and get away from business. I don’t take it as lightly as all that.”
“Have you no Patriotism?” I demanded. “Can you repeat unmoved the celabrated lines:
“Lives there a man with Soul so dead,
He (or who) never to himself hath said:
This is my own, my Native Land.”
I then choked up, although being Captain I felt that tears were a femanine weakness and a bad Example.
Mademoiselle had at that moment felt an ant somewhere and was not looking. Therfore she did not perceive when he reached over and put his hand on my foot, which happened to be nearest to him. He then pated my foot, and said:
“What a nice kid you are!”
It is strange, now that he and the baskets, etcetera, have gone away, that I continue to think about his pating my foot. Because I have known him for years, and he is nothing to me but a good friend and not sentamental in any way.
I feel this way. Suppose he enlists and goes away to die for his Country, as a result of my Speach. Can I endure to think of it? No. I did not feel this way about Tom Gray, who has gone to Florida to learn to fly, although at one time thinking the Sun rose and set on him. It is very queer.