He was a strikingly handsome figure in his uniform as he started out upon his round of farewell calls.

“And you’ll think of me every single minute when you’re in those stupid old trenches?” questioned the sweet young thing upon whom he first called.

He nodded emphatically. “Every minute.”

“And you’ll kiss my picture every night?”

“Twice a night,” he vowed rashly, patting the pretty head on his shoulder.

“And write me long, long letters?” she insisted.

“Every spare minute I have,” he reassured her, and hurried away to the next name on his list.

There were ten in all who received his promises.

When it was over he sighed. “I hope,” he murmured wearily, “there won’t be much fighting to do ‘over there.’ I’m going to be so tremendously busy.”