tterness and not humor in the smile.
Albert put a hand on his shoulder.

"Why, Labe," he asked, in concern, "what is it?"

Laban turned away.

"Don't mind, me, Al," he said, hurriedly. "I mean don't mind if I act
funny. I'm--I'm kind of--of--Oh, good Lord A'mighty, DON'T look at me
like that! . . . I beg your pardon, Al. I didn't mean to bark like a dog
at you. No, I didn't--no, no. Forgive me, will you? Will you, Al, eh?"

"Of course I will. But what is the matter, Labe? Sit down and tell me
about it."

Instead of sitting the little bookkeeper began to walk up and down.

"Don't mind me, Al," he said, hurriedly. "Don't mind me. Let me go my
own gait. My own gait--yes, yes. You see, Al, I--I'm tryin' to enlist,
same as you're goin' to do, and--and MY fight's begun already. Yes
indeed--yes, yes--it has so."

Albert was more astonished than ever. There was no smell of alcohol, and
Keeler had declared that he had not been drinking; but--

"You're going to ENLIST?" repeated Albert. "YOU? Why, Labe, what--"

Laban laughed nervously. "Not to kill the Kaiser," he replied. "No, no,
not that--not exactly. I'd like to, only I wouldn't be much help that
way. But--but Al, I--I want to do somethin'. I--I'd like to try to
show--I'd like to be an American, a decent American, and the best way
to begin, seems to me, is to try and be a man, a decent man. Eh? You
understand, I--I--Oh, Lord, what a mess I am makin' of this! I--I--Al,"
turning and desperately waving his hands, "I'm goin' to try to swear
off. Will you help me?"

Albert's answer was enthusiastic. "You bet I will!" he exclaimed. Keeler
smiled pathetically.

"It's goin' to be some job, I cal'late," he said. "Some job, yes, yes.
But I'm goin' to try it, Al. I read in the papers 'tother day that
America needed every man. Then you enlisted, Al,--or you're goin' to
enlist. It set me to thinkin' I'd try to enlist, too. For the duration
of the war, eh? Yes, yes."

"Good for you, Labe! Bully!"

Laban held up a protesting hand. "Don't hurrah yet, Al," he said. "This
ain't the first time I've tried it. I've swore off a dozen times in the
last fifteen years. I've promised Rachel and broke the promise over and
over again. Broke my promise to her, the best woman in the world. Shows
what I am, what sort I am, don't it, Al? Yes, it does,--yes, yes. And
she's stuck by me, too, Lord knows why. Last time I broke it I said I'd
never promise her again. Bad enough to be a common dru