He felt satisfied that after a couple of years' residence in Pineville he could procure the nomination for Congress, which was equivalent to an election.
The change of residence he found perfectly satisfactory from every standpoint, but Mrs. Rosamond Clay Saylor was not satisfied. She closed one of their very common wrangles, and she usually closed such bouts, by saying: "Well, John Calhoun, you have grown very arbitrary and headstrong since your experiences in the World War. I shall acquiesce since most of my time will be taken up on the lecture platform, advocating woman suffrage. I suppose I can find the place bearable during the heated term if you make yourself a little more agreeable. I wish I had married your brother-in-law, John Cornwall, when he asked me; he at least is a gentleman."
CHAPTER III.
John Cornwall Travels a Bit and Returns Home.
I believe it is Victor Hugo who declares sixty the age of adventure. To the regret of many an adventurous soul past forty-five, this view was not shared by those organizing Uncle Sam's oversea fighting force, and these men, regardless of physical fitness, found their opportunities limited to camp-follower service in the capacity of Red Cross, K. C. or Y. M. C. A. worker.
So John Cornwall, Y. M. C. A. worker, in due course arrived at Bologna and was assigned for service with the Seventh Italian army, located in the head of the Val Camonica and holding the front line around Tonale Pass and Mt. Adamello, a glacier 11,700 feet high.
This was hardly a satisfactory winter assignment, as fuel was scarce and the icy winds and Austrian guns kept him burrowed in the chiseled caverns of the dolomite peaks like a prairie dog in winter quarters until the first of November, when Tonale Pass, which had been in possession of the Austrians for several years, was crossed and the advance made into the Trentino, followed by the surrender of the Austrian armies and the Italian-Austrian armistice of November 3-4th.
Then, after following the advancing army several days towards Innsbruck, he returned to Pontagna and a winter in the Alpine snow fields, where, above nine thousand feet, you find the arctic ptarmigan and perpetual snow, where the telephone lines occasionally fail to function because under snows, and the magnificent mountain roads approaching the passes are closed for several months by deep snows, despite a struggle to keep open a narrow trail with snow plows on which, if you meet another vehicle, all hands shovel snow for an hour, making room to pass.