he said, "I couldn't write more than a couple of pages.
I was too upset to do it. I couldn't, that's all."

"Yes, but you are Albert's grandfather."

"I know. And Helen's always . . . But there, Mother, don't you worry
about Helen Kendall. I've known her since she was born, pretty nigh, and
_I_ tell you she's all RIGHT."

Fosdick, in his letter, had asked for particulars concerning Albert's
death. Those particulars were slow in coming. Captain Zelotes wrote
at once to the War Department, but received little satisfaction. The
Department would inform him as soon as it obtained the information. The
name of Sergeant Albert Speranza had been cabled as one of a list of
fatalities, that was all.

"And to think," as Rachel Ellis put it, "that we never knew that he'd
been made a sergeant until after he was gone. He never had time to write
it, I expect likely, poor boy."

The first bit of additional information was furnished by the press. A
correspondent of one of the Boston dailies sent a brief dispatch to his
paper describing the fighting at a certain point on the Allied front. A
small detachment of American troops had taken part, with the French,
in an attack on a village held by the enemy. The enthusiastic reporter
declared it to be one of the smartest little actions in which our
soldiers had so far taken part and was eloquent concerning the bravery
and dash of his fellow countrymen. "They proved themselves," he went
on, "and French officers with whom I have talked are enthusiastic. Our
losses, considering the number engaged, are said to be heavy. Among
those reported as killed is Sergeant Albert Speranza, a Massachusetts
boy whom American readers will remember as a writer of poetry and
magazine fiction. Sergeant Speranza is said to have led his company
in the capture of the village and to have acted with distinguished
bravery." The editor of the Boston paper who first read this dispatch
turned to his associate at the next desk.

"Speranza? . . . Speranza?" he said aloud. "Say, Jim, wasn't it Albert
Speranza who wrote that corking poem we published after the Lusitania
was sunk?"

Jim looked up. "Yes," he said. "He has written a lot of pretty good
stuff since, too. Why?"

"He's just been killed in action over there, so Conway says in this
dispatch."

"So? . . . Humph! . . . Any particulars?"

"Not yet. 'Distinguished bravery,' according to Conway. Couldn't we have
something done in the way of a Sunday special? He