He
heaved a big sigh, and said: "Well, I wish my mother'd take it that
way," and went out, banging the door after him. And I got up and went
over and took Mother down and looked at her, and said to her: "You
game little sport, you--you'd put the spine into a jelly-fish any
time. And I wouldn't miss going home to hug you for good-bye if I knew
the first round of shot would get me as a result."
So then I packed up, and went around and saw the dean, who assured me
that, even though I didn't stay to finish my Junior year, I'd keep my
place and get my dip, no matter how long the war lasted. Then he
looked over his spectacles at me, and said it was a good thing I was
so tall and slim--it would be a crack marksman who could get me, or
even tell me from a sapling at five hundred yards; and we grinned at
each other and shook hands. Good old Hamerton--I hope he'll be there
when I get back. Then I wired Mother and took the train for home.... I
don't know why I always write and wire Mother instead of Father, for I
think a lot of my dad. But he's pretty busy at the office, and not
much of a letter-writer, except by way of a stenographer. Mother
always gives me his messages in her letters, and when I get home he
and I talk up to date, and then Mother and I go on writing again.
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