Also a letter from Nina. She had a brother who had been in the fighting south of the Somme and had got what the British called a “blighty” wound, one that brought him home and kept him out of danger for a while. Rick had had his operation, and this time they really hoped for better results. There were even a few lines from Rick to prove it; nothing about wounds, of course, you'd never know if Rick was suffering. “Well, old top, it looks like Fritz is really in trouble. Moving out and no time to pack his boxes. Cheerio!”
Beauty was always a dependable correspondent, and managed to smile through her tears. No word from Marcel yet. M. Rochambeau had written to friends in Switzerland, asking for information. M. Rochambeau said that Germany was cracking; discontent was breaking out everywhere inside the country. President Wilson's propaganda was having a tremendous effect; his “Fourteen Points” left the German people no reason for fighting. Baby Marceline was thriving, and all the world agreed that she was the most beautiful baby in the Midi.
Lanny knew, of course, that all this was an effort on his mother's part to hide her grieving for Marcel. What was she going to do when the war was over? He had made up his mind that his stepfather was dead; and Beauty was not a person who could live alone. Sometimes he wondered, had he made a mistake in bringing about that marriage? What would he have done if he had known that Marcel was going to be a mutilé inside of one year and a corpse in less than four? Maybe she should have taken the plate-glass man after all!
X
The Allied armies continued their grinding advance. The Hindenburg line was cracked and the Germans forced to retreat. First Bulgaria collapsed, then Turkey, then Austria; there came a revolution in Germany and the Kaiser fled to Holland — all that series of dramatic events, culminating in the day when everybody rushed into the streets of American cities and towns, shouting and singing and dancing, blowing horns and beating tin pans, making every sort of racket they could think of. The war was over! There wasn't going to be any more killing! No more bombs, shells, bullets, poison gas, torpedoes! The boys who were still alive could stay alive! The war to end war had been won and the world was safe for democracy! People thought all these things, one after another, and with — each thought they shouted and sang and danced some more.
Even at St. Thomas's Academy, the place of good manners, there was a celebration. Lanny got his father on the telephone; they laughed together, and Lanny cried a little. He sent a cablegram to his mother and one to Rick. People were behaving the same way in France, of course. Even those cold and aloof beings, the gentlemen of England, were rushing out into the streets embracing strangers. It had been a tough grind for the people of that small island; they hadn't been in such danger since the days of the Spanish Armada.
A couple of weeks later came Thanksgiving Day and Lanny went home. One of the first things his father said was: “Well, kid, I guess I'm going to have to go back to Europe pretty soon. There'll be a lot of matters to be cleared up.”
Lanny's first thought was: You can cross the ocean and enjoy it! You can walk on deck and look for whales instead of submarines!
One needed time for that to sink in. Then he said: “Listen, Robbie — don't be surprised. I want you to take me with you.”
“You mean — to stay?”