Pretty soon a deep, melodious horn sounded, and a big red touring car, resplendent in nickel trimmings, came around a bend. A chauffeur drove it, and in it sat a distinguished-looking, elderly man, a lady, and a young girl with a profusion of golden hair. The car bore a Jersey license. They must have started early or done some speeding to reach the festive scene of the big contest so early. The girl, being in the spirit of the day and thinking Wilfred a country boy, waved her hand to him, and the dishonored scout took off his hat as the ill-assorted vehicles passed.
At Terryville, old Pop Winters was waiting and his evident misgiving about the arrival of his young friend was not complimentary to Wilfred.
“Think I wouldn’t come?” Wilfred laughed.
“You can’t never tell with these youngsters,” said Pop.
WILFRED DRIVES POP WINTERS TO KINGSTON.
At the big hospital in Kingston the doctors were examining applicants for increase in pensions and Wilfred’s sense of humor was touched by the presentation of ailments as credentials. It was an eloquent and pathetic reminder of how the old veterans are dying away. Some of them, crippled and enfeebled, had hobbled to the place unescorted. Wilfred was glad and proud of what he had done. It was a good turn really worth while. He had seen many that were not. No verdict was rendered by Uncle Sam’s examining physicians (that would come later), but it seemed to Wilfred that with the rheumatiz, “heart-ail,” sciatici, lameness, and the loss of sight in one eye, Pop Winters ought to come off with flying colors.
“And what’s the matter with you?” the examining physician shot at Wilfred by way of a pleasantry. “You want a pension?”
“I guess I’m all right,” said Wilfred. “I’m supposed to have heart trouble—I had diphtheria.”
“You look husky enough,” said the doctor pleasantly. “When did you have diphtheria?”