OFF TO CAMP DIXTON
Bob Baker did not flinch in what might be called the “face of the
enemy.”
True, Helena was not exactly an enemy, though her father had helped
to organize the pro-German meeting. But Helena was a girl who, in a
measure, thought for herself. She did not altogether agree with the
opinions held by her father and his Fatherland friends, though she had
heard many stories of the achievements of the Kaiser and his chosen
ones. Also she had heard, not from her father, other stories that
reflected anything but glory on German arms.
And so, when Helena knew that the motor boys were about to take the
train that, eventually, would land them at Camp Dixton, she decided to
go to say good-bye to Bob Baker.
Naturally, she did not tell her father of her intention, and,
naturally, Mr. Schaeffer was as far as possible from the station from
which the recruits departed. He did not care to see such activities on
the part of loyal Cresvillians in favor of Uncle Sam.
It was a violation of the constitutional rights of the young men to be
placed in a position where they might have to fight on foreign soil,
Mr. Schaeffer claimed. Mr. Pfeiffer had said so and he ought to know.
“Well, Helena, I am glad to see you,” remarked Bob, when he found
himself near the blue-eyed girl.
“Are you?” she inquired, and her voice was not very warm.
“Of course I am!” he insisted. “It’s no end good of you to come down to
see me off.”
“Well, I thought I’d come,” she said, a bit shyly. “I--I’m sorry we had
that little difference of opinion. But you know--you know, I’ve always
liked you, Bob.”
“I hope so, Helena.”
“But you know war is a terrible thing!”
“Are you sorry to see me go?”
“Of course I am! I’m afraid you won’t come back.” And for the first
time she showed a little emotion.
“Oh, I’ll come back all right!” declared Bob, as he took her hand.
“Let go!” she exclaimed. “Some one will see us!”
“I don’t care!” declared the stout one. “I like you a lot, Helena, and
I’m sorry your father----”
“Please don’t speak of him!” she begged quickly. “I must do as my
father says, and, though I like you, I--I--that is, he says--well, he
doesn’t believe in this war!”
“I’m afraid he’ll have to come to believe in it,” said Bob. “We all
will. It’s a war that’s got to be fought to a finish. I’m sorry for the
peace-loving Germans, if there are any, who don’t hold with the Kaiser,
but I’m against all who do! We’re in this war to win, Helena!”
The girl did not answer. She seemed struggling with some emotion. The
distant whistle of a train was heard, and the recruits, some of whom
formed the centers of rather tearful groups, prepared to gather up
their luggage.
“Well, I guess it’s good-bye, Helena,” said Bob, while Ned and Jerry
were bidding farewell to some boy and girl friends, among them Mollie
Horton and Alice Vines.
“Yes, good-bye,” Helena murmured. “I’m sorry you’re going, but I
suppose you know your own business best. Perhaps you will not be gone
for as long as you think.”
“Oh, I guess it will be for a long time,” said Bob. “This war isn’t
going to be over in a hurry. But we’ve all got to do our duty.”
“Well, it’s too bad we can’t all have the same duty,” sighed Helena.
“However, I suppose that can never be. Good-bye, Bob. Write to me when
you get a chance!” and before Bob knew what was happening she had
given him a rather sisterly kiss on his forehead and disappeared in the
crowd.
“Here! Wait a minute!” called Bob, starting after her. But the train
came in just then and there was so much confusion, and such a scramble
to get baggage together and find places in the cars, that Bob did not
get another glimpse of Helena.
A United States regular, Sergeant Mandell, was in charge of the
recruits, having been detailed by Lieutenant Riker to conduct them
safely to Camp Dixton.
“All aboard, boys!” he called. “All aboard!”
“All aboard she is!” echoed Jerry.
“We’re off for the camp!” said Ned.
Bob said nothing, but as soon as he got in his seat he raised the
window and looked out. Helena was not in sight, and, with a sigh, the
stout lad turned away.
A special car had been reserved for the boys from Cresville and
vicinity, who were going away in a body, and the lads now filled the
coach with gay songs and jests. To most of them it was a holiday, a
picnic, but there were some who felt the gravity of the situation, and
who felt that doing their duty in the matter of enlisting was not as
easy as it seemed.
The three motor boys kept together, and soon had stowed away their
possessions and made themselves comfortable.
“Well, this is the first time we ever left Cresville under such
circumstances,” observed Ned, as the train pulled out of the station
amid cheers from those left behind, and a stirring air played by the
band.
“Yes, we’ve gone out on many a trip, but none was just like this,”
agreed Jerry. “I wish the professor could be with us, at least part of
the way. He’d be interested in this bunch.”
“More likely he’d be crawling around on the floor of the car looking
for a new kind of fly,” said Bob, with a chuckle.
Professor Snodgrass had gone back to Boston after his flying visit to
Cresville. But he had promised to go to see them in camp, for it was
evident that, on account of the war, he would not be kept very busy at
Boxwood Hall.
Soon the prospective soldiers in the special car were having the best
of times. They had gotten over the first wrench of parting, and were
having fun. They sang and joked, and Ned, Bob and Jerry entered into
the jollity of the occasion.
“Do we go right into camp?” asked one lad from Cresville.
“No, I believe we first have to stop at Yorktown and go through a
detailed examination,” answered Jerry, who had been making inquiries.
“So far all we’ve gone through has been preliminary; and though we have
enlisted, there is still a lot of red tape to go through. They’ll sift
us out at Yorktown.”
“You mean separate the sheep from the goats!” laughed Ned.
“Something like that, yes,” Jerry admitted.
So they traveled on. At each stop there was a rush to get papers, if
any were available, so the recruits might know the latest news in
regard to the war. There were flaming headlines, but not much real
news, as events were, as yet, hardly shaped. But everything went to
show that Uncle Sam had at last decided to get into the war on a
wholesale scale.
“When’s the next stop?” asked Bob, as the conductor came through on one
of his trips.
“Oh, in about half an hour. But that isn’t Yorktown.”
“No, I know it isn’t.”
“Chunky wants to know if there’s a lunch counter there,” put in Ned,
grinning.
“Oh, yes, sort of one;” and the conductor smiled.