“Sam, I'm proud of you. Wish I were young enough to go it with you. Are you in a hurry to get to France?”
“Certainly am.”
“Then join the marines. They always go first. Good-bye, Sam. Good luck to you and God bless you! Draw your wages as you go out and tell the cashier I said to give you an extra month's wages for tobacco money.”
Mr. Daniels withdrew, visibly filled with emotion. Ten minutes later Cappy Ricks, watching at his office window, saw Mr. Daniels cross the street and enter the marines' recruiting office. Immediately Cappy called that recruiting office on the telephone and asked for the doctor.
“Look here, doctor!” he said. “In a few minutes a lanky, battle scarred rancher is coming in to be examined. I don't want him to enlist. He's my ranch manager and worth more to the country in his job than at the Front. You turn him down physically, doctor, and I'll guarantee to send you five fine recruits instead of that old fossil. His name is Sam Daniels, and I'm Alden P. Ricks, of the Blue Star Navigation Company, across the street.”
“We need an automobile to send our recruiting sergeant out through the state,” the wary medico replied. “Now, if you could loan us one—”
“I'll have my own car and chauffeur over in half an hour, and you keep him as long as you need him,” Cappy piped. “Only tell Sam Daniels he's faltering on the brink of the grave and send him back to me.”
An hour later Mr. Daniels slouched into Cappy Ricks' office. “Well, Private Daniels,” the old man saluted him, “you look downcast. Has something slipped?”
“I should say it has. The doc over to the recruitin' office says I got a heart murmur from smoking cigarettes, which it's a cinch the excitement o' battle brings on death from heart failure, an' then folks would say I died o' fright.”
“He's crazy Sam! Tell him to go chase himself.”