air, eyes looking far away, as boy-like he dreamed of the days
when a grateful commonwealth would "reward his merit and advance him
to the highest honors of a free country." He walked on air, painting
the future in the bright colors known only to seventeen, forgetful of
the world about him, until he was recalled to earth by a mocking laugh
and the question: "Still want to fight, Jew soldier?"

Franks stiffened and turned to face his tormentor, his face hot with
anger. "Yes, I'll fight you this minute," he answered so loudly that
several soldiers passing by overhead his words and stopped to see the
fun. "And thank you for reminding me, Durgan."

He pulled off his coat with a deliberate calm he was far from feeling
at that moment, for he knew only too well that his opponent was vastly
superior to him in strength and perhaps in experience as well. But
Isaac did not hesitate in spite of the goodnatured advice of big Bob
MacDonald who stepped up at that moment: "Let him alone, son--you
can't whip him and it's no use to try."

But Tim had already taken off his coat and stood leering down upon
Isaac who felt that he could never retreat now; that he would always
despise himself as a coward, a traitor to the heroes of his race.
Setting his teeth for the drubbing he felt certain he would receive,
he struck out blindly. Then he felt a hand grip his arm so tightly
that he winced with pain, and looking up, saw that General Washington
stood beside him.

"Well, men?" the commander's voice was very stern. "Have you nothing
better to do than spend your time brawling like a couple of tavern
roisterers? Give me a good and sufficient reason for such behaviour or
I'll have you both tied up and flogged to teach you to act like
gentlemen and soldiers of the American Army."

His quiet eyes scanned the flushed, angry faces of the two lads. He
turned sharply to Franks. "I am waiting!" he said.

For a moment Isaac wavered. He had heard enough of Washington's sense
of justice to realize that if the chief knew his reason for
challenging Durgan he might escape with a slight reprimand, or even a
word of praise for defending his race. But only for a moment. A
gentleman and a soldier in the American Army, young Franks decided,
did not tell tales. He shook his head.

"I am sorry, your excellency," he answered, respectfully, "but I
cannot tell you the reason of our quarrel since it concerns only
ourselves."

Tim Durgan, who had waited for Isaac