“We’ve got a big job on our hands,” said Ben.
“The bigger the better,” declared Carter. “It takes a big job to wake us up.”
The boy was surprised and encouraged by his father’s aggressive attitude, and yet when he ventured to reintroduce the subject of ambulance service he saw his father shy off again. He was puzzled by this and went away after lunch to meet his chum Stanley.
A week later, as Carter was about to settle down on the front porch for an after-dinner smoke, Ben came along, took his arm and led him down the graveled path toward the road—out of sight of the house, where Mrs. Carter was washing the dishes. The boy kept his father’s arm in an unusually demonstrative manner until he stopped beneath an electric light.
Then he asked quite casually: “Dad, got your fountain pen with you?”
“Eh?”
The lad held out a paper.
“What in thunder is this?” demanded Carter.
“My enlistment papers, dad. I went down to the Marine Recruiting Office the other day and passed my physical. Now—they’ve left a place along the dotted line for you to sign because I’m under age.”
The thing that astonished Carter most after the initial shock was a feeling of helplessness. It was as though his relations with his son had suddenly changed and the son had become the father. He was a foot shorter than the boy anyway, and now he felt two feet shorter. He saw a new light in the boy’s eyes, heard a fresh note of dominance. And yet it was only a brief time ago—a pitifully brief time ago—that he had been holding this same boy in his arms as a baby. Now he stood at the lad’s mercy, even though he still saw below the stalwart figure of the boy-man the downy-headed baby.