“August Father,—I would like much to be with you and fight. I could kill ten Russians now for Samurai Komatzou has taught me some great tricks. Billy says I would make a giant Russian look like ‘30 cents.’ Billy also wants to be Japanese soldier. We hope war lasts till we grow up so your two dutiful sons may enlist. I sign myself now your unworthy son,
“Taro.”
Billy’s letter was characteristic.
“Dear Father,—Are there any drummer-boys our age? Have you killed any Russians yourself? How did you do it? Did you shoot him or run your sword through his bowels like that ancestor you told us about did? Do you use my jack-knife any? I hope it’s useful. I wish I was grown-up. Say, would you ask Gozo, when you see him, to send me some Russian buttons. He sent one to Marion. It was all rusty, and she gave it to me, as Taro told there was blood on it. Taro and I worked very hard this summer in the garden, but it’s great sport. We pretended we were digging trenches, and whenever we found stones we said they were bullets, and we piled them up together, and after a time had lots of ammunition. Say, there’s a French boy living out here, and he told Taro that after a time there’d be no Japs left, because Japan was so small, and he said we’d all be killed off, and he said that the regiments would have to have boys in them soon, because his father said so. Is it true, and if so, can’t Taro and I come at once? Taro licked the Frenchy till he squeaked for mercy, and his father came out and jabbered a lot of gibberish, and he got terribly excited and said, ‘Insoolt to France!’ and everybody laughed at him. Well, this is all. We want the French boy to play war with us, but he’s like Rojestvensky, he bluffs—but we’ll catch him yet. Say, father, write something about the fight and if you’re wounded anywhere. Aff., “Billy.”
“Talk about long letters,” said Marion.
“Oh, well,” said Billy, “I had something to say. Besides, if it’s true what the Frenchy says, Taro and I will be soldiers soon, too, and father ought to know.”
