Your letter has just reached me after travelling about for weeks. I am
not going to try to tell you how wonderful it is to me to have it. In
fact, the wonder began that morning I left home when you smiled at me and
waved a friendly farewell. It was a great surprise to me. I had not
supposed until that moment that you remembered my existence. Why should
you? And it has never been from lack of desire to do so that I failed to
greet you when we passed in the street. I did not think that I, a mere
little hoodlum from your infant days, had a right to intrude upon your
grown-up acquaintance without a hint from you that such recognition would
be agreeable. I never blamed you for not speaking of course. Perhaps I
didn't give you the chance. I simply thought I had grown out of your
memory as was altogether natural. It was indeed a pleasant experience to
see that light of friendliness in your eyes at the station that day, and
to know it was a real personal recognition and not just a patriotic gush
of enthusiasm for the whole shabby lot of us draftees starting out to an
unknown future. I thanked you in my heart for that little bit of personal
friendliness but I never expected to have an opportunity to thank you in
words, nor to have the friendliness last after I had gone away. When your
letter came this morning it sure was some pleasant surprise. I know you
have a great many friends, and plenty of people to write letters to, but
somehow there was a real note of comradeship in the one you wrote me, not
as if you just felt sorry for me because I had to go off to war and fight
and maybe get killed. It was as if the conditions of the times had
suddenly swept away a lot of foolish conventions of the world, which may
all have their good use perhaps at times, but at a time like this are
superfluous, and you had just gravely and sweetly offered me an old
friend's sympathy and good will. As such I have taken it and am rejoicing
in it.
Don't make any mistake about this, however. I never have forgotten you or
the rose! I stole it from the Wainwright's yard after I got done licking
Chuck, and I had a fight with Hal Wainwright over it which almost
finished the rose, and nearly got me expelled from school before I got
through with it. Hal told his mother and she took it to the school board.
I was a pretty tough little rascal in those days I guess and no doubt
needed some lickings myself occasionally. But I remember I almost lost my
nerve when I got back to school that day and came within an ace of
stuffing the rose in my pocket instead of throwing it on your desk. I
never dreamed the rose would be anything to you. It was only my way of
paying tribute to you. You seemed to me something like a rose yourself,
just dropped down out of heaven you know, you were so little and pink and
gold with such great blue eyes. Pardon me. I don't mean to be too
personal. You don't mind a big hobbledehoy's admiration, do you? You were
only a baby; but I would have licked any boy in town that lifted a word
or a finger against you. And to think you really needed my help! It
certainly would have lifted me above the clouds to have known it then!
And now about this war business. Of course it is a rough job, and
somebody had to do it for the world. I was glad and willing to do my
part; but it makes a different thing out of it to be called a knight, and
I guess I'll look at it a little more respectfully now. If a life like
mine can protect a life like yours from some of the things those Germans
are putting over I'll gladly give it. I've sized it up that a man
couldn't do a bigger thing for the world anyhow he planned it than to
make the world safe for a life like yours; so me for what they call "the
supreme sacrifice," and it won't be any sacrifice at all if it helps you!
No, I haven't got a sweater or those other things that go with those that
you talk about. Mother hasn't time to knit and I never was much of a
lady's man, I guess you know if you know me at all. Or perhaps you don't.
But anyhow I'd be wonderfully pleased to wear a sweater that you knit,
although it seems a pretty big thing for you to do for me. However, if
knitting is your job in this war, and I wouldn't be robbing any other
better fellow, I certainly would just love to have it.
If you could see this big dusty monotonous olive-drab camp you would know
what a bright spot your letter and the thought of a real friend has made
in it. I suppose you have been thinking all this time that I was
neglectful because I didn't answer, but it was all the fault of someone
who gave you the wrong address. I am hoping you will forgive me for the
delay and that some day you will have time to write to me again.
Sincerely and proudly,
Your knight,