tars
and Stripes flapping from the tailrail. For an instant he imagined
himself a member of the crew, gazing through the periscope at a
giant German battleship---yes, firing a torpedo that leaped away to
find its mark against the gray steel hull of the foe!

Up in the dormitories some chap was nimbly fingering "Dixie" on the
mandolin. The strains came down to the youth on the campus through
the giant oak trees that half obscured the facade of "old Brighton."
Over on the athletic field a bunch of freshmen "rookies" of the
school battalion were being put through the manual of arms by an
instructor. Jack could hear the command: "Present arms!"

"I guess that means me," he said to himself. And why not? Hadn't
Joe Little and Harry Corwin and Jimmy Hill left school to join the
aviation service? Weren't Jed Flarris and Phil Martin and a bunch
of Brighton boys in Uncle Sam's navy? And hadn't Herb Whitcomb and
Roy Flynn made history in the first-line trenches? Yes, the boys of
Brighton were doing their bit.

In another moment Jack had crushed the newspaper into his pocket---his
decision made---jumped from the bench under the old oak tree and was
speeding across the campus in the direction of the main dormitory
entrance. Without waiting for the elevator he leaped the steps, three
at a time, running up to the third floor, and thence down the corridor
to No. 63---his "home," and that of his chum, Ted Wainwright.

Out of breath, he hurled himself into the room. Ted was crouched over
the study table, algebra in front of him, cramming for an examination.

"There you are! Hip, hurrah!" Jack cried excitedly, thrusting the
folded newspaper under Ted's eyes and pointing to the bold typed
appeal for recruits, all the while keeping up a running fire of
chatter.

Ted was in the midst of a tantalizing equation. He was accustomed,
however, to such invasions on the part of his chum, the two having
lived together now for nearly three school years---ever since they
had come to Brighton.

Both boys were completing their junior year in the select little
school for which the town of Winchester was famous. They lived
at remote corners of the state and had met during the first week
of their freshman year. They had found themselves together that
first night when the "freshies" were lined up before the gymnasium
to withstand the attack of the "sophs" in the annual fall cane rush.
Together they had fought in that melee, and after i