aw it would do no good to lose his temper.

"Well, ain't you? Why did you want to go to war in the first place? Why,
why?" He pounded the arm of his chair. "That's what started it."

"Well, somebody had to go," Gilbert answered, smiling. "If some of us
hadn't taken things in our hands, I don't know what would have become of
Democracy!"

Uncle Henry pondered a moment. "Mebbe so. But you didn't have to go."
Gilbert had risen to get a match, and his uncle's eye followed him to the
mantel-piece. He spoke to the back of his head. "You could have claimed
exemption if you'd wanted to, an' you know it."

"Exemption?" Gilbert repeated the word, a little angry at its utterance.
This wasn't like Uncle Henry who, with all his peculiarities, had always
been a patriot.

"Absolutely! You were the sole support of an invalid uncle." He waited for
the truth of this remark to sink in; but Gilbert said nothing. "And on top
of that," Uncle Henry went on, rapidly, when his nephew did not speak,
"you were engaged in an essential industry--if you can call these rotten
steaks you feed us on essential. The bones is softer than the meat." He
gave a curious little laugh, thin and high.

Gilbert went back to the table, leaned over, and put one hand
affectionately on the old man's shoulder. "Now, Uncle," he said, kindly,
"what's the use of going over all this again? You know how I dislike it."
He sat down and began to write again. But Uncle Henry had not finished--he
had just started.

"What's the _use_?" he wheezed. "There's lots of use. Here you go an'
persuade me to sell the old home and buy this rotten ranch 'way down here
in this God-forsaken country. An' just when I, like a darned old fool, take
an' do it, along comes the war an' you enlist and leave me here with
nothin' but a lot of rotten cows!"

"But I left the foreman and the cook," Gilbert reminded him.

A look of scorn came over Uncle Henry's face, "Yes, 'Red' Giddings--playin'
the harmonicky until I go almost crazy! An' a Mexican cook that can't cook
nothin' but firecrackers! An' not even them when you want 'em!" He waited
for this crowning touch to sink in. Infuriated by Gilbert's indifference,
he swung around again in his chair. "Say, ain't we _never_ goin' to have no
dinner? I'm hungry!"

"I'm sorry," was all Gilbert said.

Uncle Henry almost resorted to tears--they were in his voice, at any rate.
"First you rob me an' then you starve me!" he all but screamed. "An' the
b