Carter gulped back a lump in his throat.
“Good Lord!” he choked. “I can’t. I can’t. You’re all I’ve got.”
The young man placed a steady hand upon his father’s shoulder.
“You must take this thing right, dad,” he said firmly.
“In another year——”
“I’d never forgive myself if I waited,” cut in Ben. “I’ve heard too much from the fellows who’ve been over there and seen. I want you to understand that it isn’t the adventure of the thing that gets me. It’s the right of it. I’m strong enough for the game, and that’s all that counts. Another year wouldn’t make me any more fit.”
“You’d be ready for Plattsburg—in a couple of years.”
“Maybe,” Ben nodded; “but somehow—well, I just hanker to use my arms and legs rather than my head. The way I feel, nothing short of a chance with the bayonet will satisfy me. That’s why I went in for the Marines.”
Carter glanced up. He saw those lips, which had once been so tender and soft, now sternly taut.
“Have you told your mother?” asked Carter.