"I've decided I'll go if you can get me a job," he said "and if you're sure I don't have to tell them I'm eighteen. Maybe you wouldn't call it being in the war exactly, but——"
"Sure you would," Archer interrupted, with great alacrity, "I'll tell you something I didn't tell you before, but you have to keep your mouth shut. We're going to be a transport pretty soon—as soon as the boys begin coming out of the camps. We'll be taking them over by the thousands around next November—you see!"
"Do you think they'll take me?" Tom asked.
"They'll grab you—you see!"
To be sure, this assurance of a job was not on very high authority, but it was quite like Tom to place implicit confidence in what this engaging young stranger told him. His faith in people was unbounded.
He sat down on the carriage step beside Archer as if there were nothing extreme or unusual in his momentous decision, and with his usual air of indifference waited for the trolley car which would take them to the station at Catskill Landing.
"What d'you say we hit up a couple more apples?" said Archer.
"Will you have plenty left for Tommy Walters?" said Tom.
"Sure! I got enough to last him right through the danger zone."
"Through the danger zone," Tom mused.