A Delicate Mission

It was a flower-decorated and most attractive dining-room into which the six young men were ushered after being most graciously received by Mrs. Thompson. There was a promise, indeed, of good things in the eating line to come and nothing could have been more gratifying to healthy youths who had long been absent from home cooking and daintily served luxuries, no matter how well fed they were with plain and nutritive stuff.

And then, as the boys stood for a moment by their chairs in imitation of their hostess, somewhere at a distance in the house soft music began to play. Suddenly the lady clapped her hands, the double doors leading to the hall flew open and six smiling young girls, dressed in pink and white and with flowing ribbons, entered.

Rapid introductions followed, the younger lads, and especially Herbert, being somewhat awkward in acknowledgment; to say that all were taken aback, though some agreeably surprised, was no exaggeration. As the genial hostess was busily engaged in wisely seating her guests, it was Roy Flynn's ready tongue that put all at ease. Addressing Mrs. Thompson and with a wave of his hand, he said:

"Faith, me dear lady, it's the princess ye are at furnishin' delights, and all of us ought to agree with me. As me old granddad used to say, 'Bad cest to the lad who don't admire the lasses,' though ye might guess that hits me friend here, Mr. Whitcomb."

More the manner than the words caused a laugh and a flutter. A tall, dark-haired, pretty damsel, Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter, who proved to be a great aid to her mother in leading the general conversation, from her seat by Corporal Hern waved her finger tips across the table at Roy.

"Oh, you say that so nicely. But we shall try to keep Mr. Whitcomb from running away, though there is, of course, no telling what any of you terrible warriors may take it into your heads to do."

Roy arose and made a profound bow to the girl and struck an attitude.

He shot this off exactly as though he had committed it to memory. It began, then, to appear that the red-haired, homely lad would surely become the lion of the evening, for all the girls and most of the boys, themselves short in wit, appealed to Roy for a characterization of this or that thing rapidly discussed. And Roy was ever ready, so that the laughter and gaiety made the dinner a pronounced success.

Throughout this effusiveness, though appreciative of the wit and repartee, Herb sat almost silent and observant, though as yet ignorant of what he was particularly to observe. He was near the middle of one side of the table and by him sat the younger of Mrs. Thompson's daughters, an over-fat, giggling girl, slow of speech and evidently lax in ideas. She had been addressed as Laura. Rose and she were no more alike than a slice of ham and an ice cream cone.

Evidently Herb was expected to make himself agreeable to Laura Thompson, judging by the girl's manner, and the pink-flounced creature on the other side of him was all smiles and giggles for Terry Newlin, from Company I.

As the guests became more and more filled with good things and the hours grew longer the talk and laughter fell off a little, even Roy growing less verbose. Presently Rose Thompson, following a glance from her mother, made the request:

"Now, you boys might tell us something about your life and duties in camp. Mr. Hern, you're a non-com and in command here, of course, you——"

"No; you see, we are off duty," replied the complaisant corporal, "and there is no need for leadership here. But if we should need to be commanded in any way, why, then, Whitcomb over there is to have the say."

There was a rapid change of glances between Rose and her mother, the latter making a quick signal with her eyes. Almost instantly Rose called to Laura:

"Say, kid, the corporal here wants to get better acquainted with you, I know. He said he admires stout girls most—surely you said that, corporal. Besides, I am just dying to talk with Mr. Whitcomb."

"Herb's scared to death already, so don't make him breathe his last quite yet, Miss Thompson," Roy demanded. He would have said this more hilariously, seeing Herb's face turn red, but something in the look his chum gave him shut him up. This also was not lost on Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter.

The sisters exchanged places and at once Rose Thompson set about making herself more than agreeable to Herb. She was plainly bent upon drawing him out of his shell, was apparently determined to discover his brighter side. And the lad, always gentle and polite, unbent so far as to laugh and reply in kind to her sallies, but he did not lose one word being said by the hostess. Presently that lady echoed her daughter's recent request for camp news, doings and methods.

Terry Newlin was almost as ready as Roy Flynn; indeed, he talked more, but really said less. And he never thought twice what it was best for him to say. Now, pleased to hold the attention of all the fair ones, he began to spout upon the subject in hand. He rattled away about the grub, the cots, the drill, the study, the officers; and presently, surer of sympathetic hearing, began to enlarge upon the complaints, as he himself viewed them.

Rose Thompson saw that Herbert was trying to catch Terry's eye and she at once strove to prevent his doing so, for it was evident that the trend that Terry had taken much pleased the hostess. But Herb was not to be denied. He glanced across to Roy, pointed his thumb at Terry and his finger down and shook his head; then leveled a finger at Roy and another finger upward and nodded. Roy, never lacking, caught the drift.

"Oh, box the corpse, Terry, and have the funeral over! Nobody's got any kick comin' at camp, and you know it! Why, company quarters are as good as home and no pig in the parlor nor hen nestin' in the bread-box, as Terry's been used to. Whurrah, lad! Ye give us all the blues!"

This silenced Terry, but not Mrs. Thompson. That diplomatic person saw the crucial moment was at hand to embark the spirit of discontent, and, looking her sweetest, she at once held the attention of the guests.

"But camp life must be really very crude, very uncomfy, very lonely, uninteresting and disconsolate, as Mr. Newlin has intimated. I can believe you are, most of you, actually homesick when you think of the real differences between camp and home, cold-blooded officers and mother love, plain fare and dainties, and all that. Now, isn't that so?"

A half audible assent from the girls went around the table. That kind of leaven was sure to work wonders. The boys listened as the hostess continued:

"And it does seem a truly terrible thing that all this hardship, all this preparation, all this loss of time from studies, business, worthy pleasures at home should be thought necessary when there is really so little to be gained. Am I not right? All for death or loss of means, or both, for being maimed for life, made blind, made a dependent."

She paused impressively to let that sink in and another acquiescent sigh escaped, Herb noting with surprise that some of the boys joined in this, particularly Terry Newlin.

"And then," Mrs. Thompson continued, "what do we gain? What is it all for? Do we need to fear any European power away over here after this terrible war is over? Except England! Very probably England, who will fight always and against everything for commercial supremacy and her control of the seas. Are we not now fighting England's battles, and how will she thank us?

"You poor boys away off there in those awful trenches, wallowing in mud, sleeping on straw, covered with vermin, with the din of bursting shells in your ears, the horrid expectation of death continually, seeing your loved comrades cut down, horribly wounded, dying or killed outright, your mind and body constantly suffering from these—surely you cannot disagree——"

This last, in her most engaging manner, was addressed to Roy Flynn. The lad had risen and leaning forward, with both fists on the table, was glaring at the woman savagely; all the jollity in his round, red face had suddenly fled.

"Do you mean to try to make slackers of us; to preach the doctrine of discontent?" he demanded.

"No, indeed! Not at all, my dear boy. You quite misunderstand me, I am sure. Nothing could be more foreign to my thoughts. I am only deeply filled with sympathy for the lads who are going away to fight our battles, to bleed and die for us, while we, as it seems most selfishly, remain here in peace and security at home, able to do so little. And all for so little gain, probably for no gain at all. Our country is confronted by such a gigantic task. On us, soon, will fall the brunt of the effort to oppose the greatest military power on earth, and what can——?"

She paused a moment, noting Herbert's quick glance and apparent signal to Roy, who instantly resumed his seat, but refrained from again adopting his jovial manner and speech.

"You see," Mrs. Thompson went on, "the Germans are so wonderfully able, are such a thoroughly capable race that it is well-nigh impossible to equal them in anything. They——"

Herbert decided that he must at last get into the conversation.

"Why do you so highly praise the Germans?" he asked abruptly. "We Americans refuse to believe that they are such wonderfully capable people. They are awful brags and try to make the rest of the world think they are the top notch of mankind, but in what way they show it I can't see.

"Young man, you are evidently not fully informed. You have not been in Germany, as I have. The German people are the most efficient——"

"No people are efficient who set the whole world against them," interrupted Herb.

"Mere jealousy on the part of other nations!" scoffed the lady. "But anyway, whatever you may think of the Germans, this fact remains: they have not invaded our country to war on us——"

"Only because they couldn't," interposed Roy.

"They have not injured any of our people——"

"Oh! How about the Lusitania and some other boats?" chimed in Anthony Wayne Bartlett-Smith.

"Merely the fortunes of war as aimed at another country. Americans had no business to be on that boat when they had already been warned. How could the submarines choose between——?"

"Will you pardon me," Herbert suddenly requested, "for asking to be excused for a few moments so that I may call up our captain to ask at what hour we are to return? May I use your 'phone?"

The boy had arrived at a rapid conclusion, believing that drastic measures should be adopted. Half-way methods were distasteful to him. He was not certain that he had sufficient grounds for action, but anyway, that would be up to Captain Leighton. No doubt Herb could have the rest of the soldier guests with him, all except Terry Newlin, who seemed to be naturally disgruntled.

The bland face of the hostess went suddenly red and then very white, but she indicated the front hallway where the telephone hung. Then, as Herb arose, both he and Roy noticed that the lady nodded her head toward her elder daughter, who quickly got up and followed Herbert through the archway.

As the boy reached his hand for the instrument there was a quick step beside him and slender fingers were thrust forward to push his hand aside.