“Become of you, Buddy?” he said.
“Of us. The paper. It won’t be us any more with you out of it.”
“No. It won’t be,” sighed Jeremy. “But I’ll arrange to have you kept on.”
The boy shook his head. “Nothin’ doin’. She wanted me to have a job with you.” Suddenly he brightened up. “Boss, could I have a half-day off to-morrow?”
“Take it all if you like. Looking for another place?” The boy thanked him without replying. Jeremy went to Dr. Summerfield’s office where he was duly stripped, prodded, poked, flexed, and stethoscoped by that slim, dry, brief-spoken physician. When it was over the doctor leaned back in his chair and contemplated his caller. “Want to get into the army, eh?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To fight, of course.”
“Is n’t there enough fight right here?”
“It is n’t the same.”