t he almost wished she had not written. He
felt a bit guilty at having received the letter. He was pretty sure
that Madeline would not like the idea. He was tempted to say nothing
concerning it in his next letter to his affianced, but that seemed
underhanded and cowardly, so he told her. And in her next letter to him
Madeline made no reference at all to Helen or her epistle, so he knew
she was displeased. And he was miserable in consequence.

But his misery did not last long. The happenings which followed crowded
it from his mind, and from Madeline's also, for that matter. One
morning, having told no one except his grandfather of his intention, he
took the morning train to Boston. When he returned the next day he
was Uncle Sam's man, sworn in and accepted. He had passed the physical
examination with flying colors and the recruiting officers expressed
themselves as being glad to get him. He was home for but one day leave,
then he must go to stay. He had debated the question of going in for a
commission, but those were the early days of our participation in
the war and a Plattsburg training or at least some sort of military
education was almost an essential. He did not want to wait; as he had
told his grandfather, he wanted to fight. So he enlisted as a private.

And when the brief leave was over he took the train for Boston, no
longer Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, South Harniss's Beau Brummel,
poet and Portygee, but Private Speranza, U.S.A. The farewells were brief
and no one cried--much. His grandmother hugged and kissed him, Rachel
looked very much as if she wanted to. Laban and Issachar shook hands
with him.

"Good luck to you, boy," said Mr. Keeler. "All the luck there is."

"Same to you, old man," replied Albert. Then, in a lower tone, he added,
"We'll fight it out together, eh?"

"We'll try. Yes, yes. We'll try. So long, Al."

Issachar struck the reassuring note. "Don't fret about things in the
office," he said. "I'll look out for 'em long's I keep my health."

"Be sure and keep that, Issy."

"You bet you! Only thing that's liable to break it down is over-work."

Captain Zelotes said very little. "Write us when you can, Al," he said.
"And come home whenever you get leave."

"You may be sure of that, Grandfather. And after I get to camp perhaps
you can come and see me."

"Maybe so. Will if I can. . . . Well, Al, I . . . I. . . . Good luck to
you, son."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

They shook hands.