Although the incident at the flag-raising on the Fourth of July was deeply and unpleasantly impressed on the mind and memory of Halpert McCormack, it did not deter him from following the advice of his Aunt Sarah Halpert, and filing his application to become a member of Company E of the National Guard. He felt, in the first place, that in doing so he was honoring the memory of his father, who had been, in his lifetime, the captain of the company and devoted to its interests. He felt also that while military force ought to be unnecessary in the conduct and protection of governments, the times were not yet ripe for the voluntary disarmament of any nation, and that perhaps it was his duty as a young American citizen to identify himself with the visible means of preserving domestic order and preventing foreign aggression. His application for enlistment was promptly approved by the commanding officer, and he was directed to present himself at the armory to be sworn in.

It so happened that McCormack and Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., appeared at headquarters on the same evening for the same purpose. The oath, administered to them by Captain Murray, was handed to them on separate sheets for each one to sign. Young Barriscale affixed his name at once with a dash and a certainty that indicated complete satisfaction with the course he was taking. But McCormack was not so prompt. He was given to deliberation, and he read over carefully the oath that he had already heard. It was only after he had fully digested its contents and asked some questions concerning it that he signed his name. One clause of it stuck fast in his memory, and he never afterward forgot it.

After the ceremony of enlistment had been completed Barriscale and McCormack were placed in charge of a sergeant and taken down to the drill-hall to be instructed in the “setting-up” process. And, as no other recruits had been enlisted at about that time, they two alone formed the awkward squad.

They were made to assume the position and attitude of a soldier: Heels on the same line, feet turned out equally, knees straight without stiffness, body and head erect and squarely to the front, chin drawn in, arms hanging naturally with thumbs along the seams of the trousers. They were drilled in alignments, in the facings and in marchings. Occasionally an officer or a group of privates would come along and watch for a little the instruction of the “rookies,” and comment on the facility with which they grasped an understanding of military methods and practice. But there was no criticism of their awkwardness, nor was any fun made of their mistakes.

The most interested onlooker was Chick Dalloway. Chick was a hanger-on of Company E. He had a decided leaning toward the military life, and hoped some day to be a member of the company. But poor Chick was under-sized, hump-backed, lop-shouldered, and hollow-chested. Moreover he had not that degree of mental alertness and stability necessary in an efficient soldier. So, although no one had ever had the heart, or heartlessness, to tell him so, every one but Chick knew that there was no possibility of his ever becoming an enlisted man in Company E. In the meantime, however, the company profited by his devotion to its interests. He was always present on drill nights, he always accompanied the troops to the summer encampment, he ran errands, he carried water, he cleaned equipment, he performed all kinds of humble service for the officers and enlisted men; and while he was not on the company’s pay-roll, he received regularly a small gratuity from those whom he served. And as the weeks and months and years went by, he never ceased to dream of the day when he too should wear khaki, and carry a rifle, and march with the best of them.

At the end of an hour the two new recruits were dismissed with commendation from the drill-master and compliments from Chick.

“I ain’t never seen no two rookies,” said the boy, “since I been in the company, what got into the game quicker’n easier’n them fellers.”

It was three weeks later that McCormack, on his way to the armory on a drill night, ran squarely into Hugo Donatello at the river bridge on Main Street. It was the first time that the two young men had seen each other since the Fourth of July, but the recognition was mutual. McCormack would have passed on with a nod, but Donatello stopped and held out his hand.

“I have not before had the opportunity,” he said, “to thank you for your attitude toward me on your Independence Day. I wish that I do so now.”

Hal took the man’s hand; he could do no less.

“Oh,” he replied, “that was nothing. I thought they weren’t giving you a square deal, and I said so, that was all.”

“I know; but it demanded the courage to say so. You were very brave. Me, I shall not soon forget it.”

“Well,” replied Hal, smiling, “I always did sympathize with the under dog in a fight, and you were the under dog that day all right.”

“Yes. The—the under dog.” He was a little doubtful about the meaning of the phrase. The simile was not familiar to him. But he continued: “They thought to punish me. It is the—what you call—boomerang. The incident is known and deprecated by workers everywhere. It has roused their resentment. They do not like that a capitalist flag be made one excuse for abuse and oppression of a member of the proletariat. The ruling class, they are to suffer for that outrage.”

His voice rose at the finish, and his eyes flashed. It was plain that the resentment he harbored was deep and bitter.

“I’ve told you already,” said Hal, “that I didn’t think they treated you right. But I don’t know that it was the ruling class that was to blame for it.”

“Yes. The capitalistic system. That is it which is to blame for all outrages on society. When the workers come into control, it is then that there will be justice for everybody.”

He opened his arms as if to take into his embrace all men everywhere.

“I know,” replied Hal. “I know what you people preach; I know what your paper advocates. I read it. I’m interested in this social problem. I think you’re right in a good many things, but I can’t follow you to the end. I’m with everybody who doesn’t have a fair chance. But I don’t see the justice in knocking down a man who has a little more than I have and taking it away from him, provided he got it honestly.”

“Exactly! If he got it honestly then would he have no more than his fellow-man. Exactly! It is the ruling class who take the workers by the throat and choke them, so, into submission, into labor, poverty, bondage. What is the law? They make the law for us to obey. Do we ask for our own? Behold the jail! Do we try to take what belongs to us? Come the hired assassins, police, constabulary, militia, federal troops. So! It is terrible! Yet, some day, some day the workers will come into their own!”

They had stopped on the bridge and stood leaning against the guard-rail, looking out through the twilight across the shadowed surface of the river to the hills that towered precipitately from the farther bank. As they stood there Ben Barriscale passed them by on his way to the armory. Attracted by the eagerness in Donatello’s voice, he slackened his pace for a moment to look and listen. But the speakers, absorbed in their conversation, did not notice him.

“Why,” replied Hal, “I know there’s a good deal of injustice. But without the courts and the military there’d be more. We’ve got to have a government, and laws, and we’ve got to keep order. That’s what the militia is for. I belong to the National Guard, now, myself.”

“So? You are, then, a soldier?”

“Yes. I’ve got a state and a country. I’ve sworn allegiance to the United States, and to the State of Pennsylvania, and that I will serve them against all their enemies.”

“So, then, who are their enemies?” asked Donatello, and answered his own question: “all who exploit labor and oppress the poor.”

“Yes,” agreed Hal, “that’s true, perhaps. But there may be more direct enemies. Mobs at home, governments abroad that would want to fight us. We must protect our own. We must be patriotic.”

Donatello caught up the word:

“Patriotic! What then is patriotism? A fetish! Nothing more. A superstition fostered by capitalism for its own most selfish purposes. Oh, in that day, under the rule of the proletariat, patriotism will not be any more. Workers the world over will unite under one flag, the red flag of the common brotherhood. Not any longer will be nationalism, but internationalism. Not any longer will be wars, poverty, suffering; but peace, always peace, plenty, happiness!”

The arc light on the bridge flashed up and lighted the speaker’s face, aglow with earnestness and conviction. That he was a devout believer in his own propaganda there could be no doubt.

Hal lifted his elbows from the railing and shook his shoulders as if to cast off the spell laid on him by the speaker’s enthusiasm.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to hurry along or I’ll be late for drill. I’m glad to have had a talk with you, though; I’ve often wanted to hear one of you radicals expound your beliefs. I’ve thought and read about these things quite a bit. I like your idealism all right; but I can’t follow you practically.”

“Ah, but some day you will, when you see the more clearly. I shall talk with you again; is it not so? I have much interest. We may reach common ground.”

He held out his hand cordially, as to an old-time friend. So they shook hands and said good-night to each other, and then Private McCormack, with a leaning toward socialism, hurried along to the armory to attend to his duties as a soldier in the service of the State.

Both McCormack and Barriscale were now serving regularly in the ranks. They were fully uniformed and equipped, and they drilled, marched, and faced imaginary foes with the rest. It was not a disagreeable service. The officers of the company were considerate, and the enlisted men were for the most part congenial, at least to Hal. Moreover, there was a kind of satisfaction, an exhilaration indeed, in the performance of military movements in unison with a body of men. The swing and rhythm of it were captivating to Hal, the sense of power engendered by it was inspiring to Ben. And then, too, a feeling of patriotism was aroused, an emotion that would not have been so deeply stirred by the activities of civil life. But, while McCormack was patriotic, he was not bloodthirsty. On the contrary, he was peace-loving in the extreme. No one would have deprecated more than he the necessity of going to war, yet if his country had been endangered, or his flag threatened, he would not have hesitated to fight. Young Barriscale, on the other hand, was more belligerent. He believed in the arbitrament of the sword. He believed that a nation like ours should always maintain a strong, well-drilled, well-officered national army, and be prepared to fight, not only for the suppression of domestic and internal revolts, not only for the defense of its own soil, but also for the preservation of the liberties of any people oppressed by a tyrannical government, as Cuba had been prior to 1898. Naturally, with such divergent opinions, there had been more than one clash between the two boys, yet no bad blood had been aroused, and their friendship with each other remained unbroken. There had been another point of disagreement between them also. That was concerning the punishment meted out to Donatello on the Fourth of July. Ben had insisted that it was not a fraction of what he deserved; Hal had contended that it was excessive, uncalled for, and brutal. So, while the two young men remained passive friends, there had been no companionship between them. Indeed, they had little in common save a desire on the part of each to excel in proficiency as a member of the National Guard.

Then came an incident, entirely unlooked for, that brought to a sudden end such friendly relations as had hitherto existed between them. It occurred on the same evening on which McCormack had had his interview with Donatello on the bridge. It was following company drill. Ranks had been broken, and the men moved off, singly and in groups, to the stack and locker room to put away their rifles and equipment, Hal and Ben going with the rest. But it so chanced that each of the two boys, independently of the other, decided to remain for a little and clean and brighten up his gun and accoutrements.

Ben had discovered a small spot of rust on the barrel of his rifle and he determined to remove it. So, after oiling and rubbing the leather parts of his equipment, he got a piece of emery paper from his locker and set to work.

The only persons remaining in the stack-room at this time, besides himself, were Hal, who was busy cleaning his own rifle, and Chick, who was watching them both.

Chick usually followed the enlisted men to the racks after drill, and helped them, so far as they cared to be helped, in disposing of their arms and accoutrements.

He was looking on now at Hal, talking with him, making suggestions and comments, commending him for the excellence of his work. Of the two boys he liked Hal the better. For Hal was always kind to him, and very considerate, and treated him just as though he were already the bona fide enlisted man that he expected some day to be; while Ben, aside from directing him, on occasion, to perform some small service, was dignified and distant, and had little to say to him.

So to-night, save for an occasional side glance, Chick was paying little attention to Private Barriscale. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben, with his rifle resting across his knees, begin to rub the spot of rust on the barrel with a square of emery paper, the boy’s attention was instantly attracted, and his interest aroused. He looked on incredulously for a moment, then, apparently unable to restrain his criticism, he walked across the room to where Ben was sitting.

“Excuse me!” he said, saluting as he approached, “but that ain’t no way to git rust spots off’n a rifle bar’l.”

Private Barriscale looked up in amazement. He was not accustomed to being criticized by a company hanger-on, and, besides, things had not gone well at the drill, and he was not in a particularly genial mood.

“What? What’s that you say?” he demanded sharply.

“I say,” responded Chick, “as that ain’t no way to clean a rifle bar’l. You shouldn’t ever ought to clean a rifle bar’l with emery.”

“What business is it of yours how I clean my rifle?”

“Why, I s’pose ’tain’t none o’ my business. But I know ’t no one can’t clean his rifle bar’l with no emery paper, cause it’s ag’inst the rules.”

“Well, when I want your advice I’ll tell you. In the meantime suppose you confine your admonitions to your friend across the room.”

Chick was not angry nor resentful. He felt that he had done his duty by a new recruit. If his advice was not acceptable it was not his fault.

“Excuse me!” he said. “I didn’t have no intention o’ buttin’ in. I just wanted you to know what I know about cleanin’ rifle bar’ls. I al’ays try to help the rookies out, best I kin.”

Then, indeed, Ben’s wrath blazed up. To be called a “rookie” by this inconsequential camp-trotter was more than he could stand. He jumped to his feet and brought the butt of his rifle to the floor with a crash.

“You leave this room!” he shouted. “You’ve no business here! You’re a meddler and a fool!”

Chick stood staring at the angry youth in amazement. He could not understand why his well-intentioned advice should have brought forth such a burst of wrath. Still less could he understand why he should be ordered to leave a room in which, so far as he knew, he had been welcome as a friend and helper for the last three years. Nor could Halpert McCormack understand it. Or, if he did dimly understand the cause of Barriscale’s wrath he could have no sympathy with him in his angry outburst. Up to this moment he had been a silent witness to the affair. Now he felt that it was just to Chick, and due to his own self-respect, that he should take a hand in it.

“You don’t have to go, Chick,” he said quietly. “I’ve as much authority here as Barriscale has, and I tell you to stay.”

Ben’s face, already flushed with anger, turned scarlet now. For a moment he could not find words with which to express his indignation. But when he did speak it was apparent that the current of his wrath had changed and was setting violently toward Hal.

“What business is it of yours,” he demanded, “what orders I give to this intermeddling runt?”

“It’s my business,” replied Hal, “because you’ve no right to give such orders. Besides, Chick wasn’t intermeddling; he intended to do you a favor.”

“Me? Do me a favor?” He spoke in a voice and manner of infinite scorn.

“Yes. He was entirely right when he said it was improper and against the rules to use emery paper on your rifle barrel. A little oil, a piece of soft wood, and a woolen rag will remove a spot of rust effectually and save the finish on your barrel.”

If Hal had thought to appease his comrade’s wrath by this explanation, he soon discovered his error. Barriscale was more violently angry than before.

“Who set you up,” he shouted, “as an instructor in the care of arms?”

McCormack was still calm.

“No one,” he replied. “I’ve simply studied my regulations, and Chick taught me, a week ago, how to remove rust.”

“Oh, Chick taught you, did he? Major-General Chick! No wonder you’ve made a bosom friend of him! It seems to be the height of your ambition to make boon companions of anarchists and fools!”

This was his parting shot. He put his rifle in its place in the rack with a bang, flung his cleaning appliances into his locker and snapped the door shut, and then, white with unreasonable rage, he left the room.