JOE CHANGES HIS MIND
“Hello, Han!” cried Steve Chapman. “We were just talking about you.
Come on in.”
“It’s the first time I ever heard anyone get eloquent on the subject,”
responded George Hanford as he swung across the room and lowered
himself onto the window-seat. “It sounded like a debate as I came up
the stairs.”
“Steve was talking war,” said Joe.
“Oh! Well, he’s not the only one. What do you think of it, Steve?”
“I think it’s great! I’m for it, Han. What about you? Are you going now
or――――”
“Now. I dropped around to say _au revoir_. I’m off at four.”
“Not really?” exclaimed Steve. “Gee, I wish I were going! Where do you
go to?”
“Brooklyn Navy Yard. After that――――” He spread his hands expressively.
“I’m hoping they’ll stick me on something that’s going across, though.”
Steve got up and strode excitedly the length of the study and back.
Joe thoughtfully picked a hole in the blotter with the point of a pen.
“I wish I’d gone into the Naval Reserve,” said Steve coming to a stop
in front of Han’s outstretched feet. “The Army’s no good. They’ll keep
us here for months, they say, and drill us until the blooming war’s all
over.”
“Yes, I guess the sailors will have the call,” agreed Han. “I hear that
we’ve had ships with steam up and bunkers full and crews aboard for two
weeks all ready to start over. Hope to goodness I’m lucky enough to get
on one of them. So it’s the Army for you fellows, eh? Going to join now
or wait till term’s over?”
“I’m going to enlist as soon as I hear from the folks,” replied Steve
eagerly. “I wired dad half an hour ago. Joe has some silly notion that
it isn’t polite to skewer a German and says he’s off it.”
“Joe?” Han smiled. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be in it quick enough.
You couldn’t keep him out of a scrap if you tried.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Steve ruefully, “but he’s gone and got a
lot of fool pacifist notions into his noodle. I wish to goodness you’d
talk to him, Han!”
But Han shook his head. “No thanks. If he really feels that way the
best thing to do is just let him alone until the poison works itself
out. He’ll come around. I had queer ideas myself a year or so ago.
Didn’t approve of war much. Considered it a return to barbarism and all
that, you know. Do yet. But, of course, we’ve got a duty to perform and
we’ve got to perform it the most practical way. And the quickest way.
That means war. We’ve tried soft words and we’ve tried argument. We’ve
given ’em all the rope we could. Only thing left is to knock the tar
out of ’em.” Han spoke quite dispassionately.
“That’s just it,” agreed Steve. “We’ve been patient long enough. I’m
for action. I wonder if I could join one of those Canadian regiments
and get across this Summer, Han.”
“Guess so. You’d have to lie, though, and say you were a British
subject. Personally, I’d a heap rather fight under the old Stars and
Stripes. Look here, why don’t you go in for the Navy?”
“Eh?” Steve stared a moment. “By Jove! Could I?”
“Don’t see why not. You like the water, too.”
“Rather! Why, I never thought of the Navy! I wonder――look here, how old
do they take you?”
“Seventeen up. You have to have your parents’ permission if you’re
under eighteen. You’re eighteen, aren’t you?”
“Yes. By Jove, that’s an idea! Hear that, Joe? Tell me about it, Han.
What do I do? Where do I go to see about it? How soon――――”
“Easy on! You enlist for four years usually, but I believe they’re
taking ’em now for the period of the war. You can search me as to what
that means! You’ll have to start in as an apprentice seaman, I suppose.
After that you can try for different things. You’ll get seventeen
dollars and sixty cents a month――――”
“I don’t care about the wages,” interrupted Steve impatiently. “Where
can I join? Would they take me?”
“Jump at you, son. Of course you’ll have to pass an examination, but
they aren’t so strict in war time, and you’d get by anyhow. You must be
five feet, four inches and weigh not less than a hundred and fifteen
at your age. Then, if you don’t have varicose veins or curvature
of the spine or about ninety other things, including deafness and
colour-blindness, you sign a blank and get shipped to a station for
training. I don’t believe, though, that they’ll waste a heap of time in
training the fellows ashore. There are too many places to fill. Sound
all right?”
“Great! But could I do it? Be a――an apprentice seaman, or whatever you
called it? Is it hard?”
“It’s a man’s work, Stevie, but it’s no harder than being in the Army.
If you take hold and learn you’ll get on like a house on fire. After
awhile you’ll get to be a second-class seaman, and then a seaman, and
after that you’re in line for a third-class petty officer’s job. You
can be a yeoman or a gunner’s mate or a master-at-arms or, if you like,
you can be a painter! That is, of course, if you make good.”
“What are you?” demanded Steve.
“Ensign.”
“Fine! What’s an ensign?”
“It’s a start,” replied Han gravely.
“Yes, but is it like a lieutenant or what?”
“It ranks with a second lieutenant in the Army. Only,” added Han, with
a twinkle, “it’s a heap more important.”
“I’m awfully glad, Han,” said Joe, looking up from his preoccupied task
of digging holes in the desk-pad. “That’s fine. Of course you’ll get
sea duty right off. It isn’t as if you were just a beginner.”
“That’s what I am, though. All the training I’ve had you could put in
your eye. They made me ensign in the Reserve because I was too big for
anything less, and didn’t know enough to be anything more! I’ll have to
learn just as you fellows will. There’s one thing to remember, Steve,
and it’s this. Once we get into this mess there’s going to be a vacancy
on your ship right often. If you don’t come home a lieutenant it’ll be
your own fault, I guess.”
“Unless he shouldn’t come home at all,” observed Joe quietly.
“Well, don’t buy any flowers yet,” replied Steve flippantly. “Where can
I enlist, Han? New York? Brooklyn?”
“If you can drag your feet as far as Chapel Street――――”
“Honest? Of course! I remember seeing the place now. Look here, I
wonder if I ought to send another telegram. Maybe dad wouldn’t stand
for the Navy. He’s skittish about having me drowned.”
Han laughed. “Rather have you blown up by a trench bomb, eh? Well,
everyone to his taste. Did the Government take over the _Adventurer_?”
“No,” answered Steve. “They say she’s too small. I believe fifty feet
over all’s the limit.” He had paused at a window and, with hands
thrust deeply into trousers pockets, was staring thoughtfully across
the roofs to where, high above the big hotel, the Stars and Stripes
was snapping in the April breeze. Han broke the silence with a quiet
chuckle.
“Say, fellows, when we formed the Adventure Club almost a year ago we
didn’t know what a whacking big adventure we’d get into, did we?”
“No,” replied Joe, “somehow the war didn’t seem especially near home
then. I wonder why. Anyone who thought much about it might have known
we couldn’t keep out of it much longer. I suppose we were too kiddish
to realise.”
“We were only a year younger,” objected Steve, without turning.
“Yes, but I feel a lot more than a year older,” said Joe. Han nodded.
“We’re living fast these days. By the way, I got a note from Phil
yesterday. He and Harry Corwin are down at Newport News and expect
to make a trip across pretty soon on one of the armed liners. Phil’s
qualifying as gun-pointer.”
“Phil!” exclaimed Joe. “Great Scott, think of that old sober-sides
doing that! And Harry’s with him, eh? Some fellows have all the luck!”
he ended disconsolately.
“Any of the other Adventure Club fellows in it?” asked Joe.
“Wink Wheeler’s training somewhere down south for the Aviation Service
and Cas Temple’s driving a flivver over in France. But you knew that. I
dare say there are others in it by now.”
“Neil Fairleigh’s training for something out in Kansas or Missouri or
somewhere. Nick Taylor had a letter from him awhile back. Well, that’s
seven out of thirteen accounted for,” added Steve.
“I make it eight,” corrected Han. “Phil and Harry, Wink, Cas, Neil,
you, Joe and myself.”
“Eight if you count Joe,” said Steve rather ungraciously. Joe flushed
but said nothing, and Han pulled his length from the window-seat.
“Well, I’ve got a thousand things to do, fellows. Good luck to you, and
here’s hoping we’ll meet over there before long.”
“We’ll make a date for Berlin the third Thursday in September,” laughed
Steve.
Han shook his head, smiling. “Don’t fool yourself, son. This thing’s
only started. Good-bye, Joe. When you get ready to come in you’d better
consider the Navy. Maybe if you work it right you can make the same
ship with Steve.”
“I’d like the Navy,” answered Joe quietly as he shook hands. “If I
do――――” He paused, and then: “When I do,” he went on, “I’ll try for
that. Good-bye, Han, and all the luck in the world to you. If you
aren’t wearing epaulettes before the war’s over I’ll be disappointed in
you.”
“Thanks, Joe, but if I get my two bars I’ll be satisfied. I’ll let
you hear from me if there’s anything to write, and you might drop me
a scrawl now and then. I’ll send an address as soon as I get one. So
long!” Han paused on the threshold and looked back for an instant while
his smile faded and a very sober expression came over his face. “The
Adventure Club has found its Great Adventure, fellows,” he said softly.
“Let’s all do our best to make good.”
After Han had gone there was silence for several minutes in the room.
Joe was bent over his book again, but I don’t think he was studying.
Steve had gone back to his contemplation of the windy Spring sky and
the gay flag tugging at its halyard. It was he who broke the silence at
last.
“I hope old Han comes through all right,” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Joe.
“He’s one of the best.” Steve turned and reached for his cap. “I’ve got
to run over to the library a minute. If that telegram comes, Joe, look
after it, will you? I’ll be back pretty soon.” At the door he, too,
turned, and: “I say, Joe,” he began.
“Yes?” asked the other.
“Nothing. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Practice at three-thirty. We’ll probably get outdoors again today.
This wind ought to dry the field up pretty fast.”
“Oh! Well――so long.”
Steve clattered downstairs and the door below banged behind him. After
a moment Joe arose and crossed to a window. Steve, hands in pockets,
was swinging diagonally across the street, not at all in the direction
of the library.
“He’s going to the recruiting place,” thought Joe. Raising his eyes,
his glance fell on the flag streaming its red and white stripes against
the blue sky. He stood there a moment looking at it intently and then,
with a faint sigh, went back to the desk. From the main street came the
shrill cry of a passing newsboy:
“Wuxtry! Wuxtry! President Wilson declares war with Goimany!
Wuxtre-e-e!”
* * * * *
Steve’s telegram came shortly after luncheon. When he had read it he
passed it over to Joe. “Do your duty as you see it (Joe read) and God
bless you. Mother and father.”
Twenty minutes later Steve was answering the questions of the Recruiting
Officer.
When Joe returned from freshman baseball practice at dusk two notes lay
on the corner of his chiffonier and he took them to the window. One,
merely a sheet of paper once folded and with a corner turned down, was
from Steve.
“Pal: I’m running up to town for the night. Back early in the morning.
I’m off to Brooklyn Navy Yard day after tomorrow. Better be sorry for
the Kaiser now! Steve, _U. S. N._”
Joe reread it and then thoughtfully laid it down and took up the second
note. This was enclosed in a sealed and fully addressed envelope and,
since it bore no stamp, had evidently been delivered at the house by
messenger. The writing was unmistakably Han’s, big, round and boyish.
He tore the end from the envelope and pulled forth the single sheet of
paper, not a little curious as to what Han had found to write about so
soon. There was neither greeting nor signature to that missive, and Joe
frowned perplexedly as he began to read:
“To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything
that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those
who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend
her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and
happiness and the peace which she has treasured.
“God helping her, she can do no other.”
When he had read it the second time he refolded it slowly and pushed
it into an inner pocket. Then, turning out the light, he went into the
bedroom and threw himself on his bed and, hands under head, stared
straight up at the darkening ceiling. An hour passed. Outside the
lights grew brighter along the streets. The roar and hum of the little
city lessened. At last Joe arose and made his way to the study window
again. Darkness enveloped the town above the roofs, but, faintly
illumined against the night sky, the Stars and Stripes still waved and
fluttered. Joe brought his heels together, straightened his body and
raised his right hand to his forehead in salute.