cious pocket of Uncle Sam's big coat. "_I_--Christopher! If I
only had your nerve now--Tommy. It doesn't--it doesn't count for so much
to be able to strangle a fellow--though I ought to be strangled.--It's
just like Margaret said--the other kind of strength. If I could only
make up my mind to do a thing, like he could, and _then do it_!"

He leaned against the lamp post, this fine young soldier who was going
to help "can the Kaiser," and he did not stand erect at all, and all his
fine air was gone from him.

You had better not slink and slouch like that on the platform to-morrow
night, Private Roscoe Bent.

"I can see myself giving my father that message! Proud of me--of _me!
Brave soldier!_ That's what this poor kid said. And me trying to
flim-flam myself into thinking that I've got to keep still because I
promised Tom. How is it any of his business? It's between me and my----
And I made fun of him--_him_! I wonder what this bully scout kid would
say to that! I'm--I'm a low-down, contemptible sneak--that's what----"

On a sudden impulse, the same fine impulse which would some day carry
him ahead of his comrades, straight across the German trenches, he ran
to the corner where he had parted with Roy and looked eagerly up one
street and down another. He ran to the next corner and looked anxiously
down the street which crossed there. He ran a block up this street and
looked as far as he could see along Terrace Place which was the way up
to the fine old Blakeley homestead on the hill.

But no sign of Roy was there to be seen, for the good and sufficient
reason that when Roy Blakeley, "Silver Fox," took it into his head to go
scout pace, he was presently invisible to pursuers.

So Roscoe's impulse passed, as Roscoe's impulses were very apt to do,
and he wandered homeward, telling himself that fate had been against him
and balked his noble resolution.

As he went down through Rockwood Place he saw the lights in the library,
which told him that his mother and father were still up. But he did not
deliver Mr. Ellsworth's message; he was strong enough for that, anyway.
Instead, he went straight up to his own room, which he had not occupied
lately, and when he got up there he found that he was not alone. For a
certain face haunted him all night and would not go away--a face with a
heavy shock of hair, with a big, rugged mouth, and a bloody cut on its
forehead.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FACE

All the next day that face