And then it occurred to him that this was the moment to stir their hearts--to make one of those speeches which might not touch the audience but which would inflame the patriotism of youth. Forgetting his recent pledge he plunged into oratory--the inherited oratory of the Fourth of July, he snatched up any adjectives as long as they came in threes, called patriotism by name, and spoke of the flag as Old Glory. Hurried on by his own warmth he reached his climax too soon, ended his speech before the audience expected and began asking for subscriptions before anyone was ready. There was an awkward silence. Then a young voice spoke up: "One one-hundred-dollar bond." Yes, it was David. Mr. Brougham's heart leaped with hope; had the boy been moved? Was this the first fruit of repentance? He looked down, hoping to meet the upward glance of a devotee, but David was whispering something to his younger brother which made the latter giggle foolishly. The ball once set rolling went fast. Subscriptions poured in; it was a successful evening--almost as successful as the evening made famous by a great screen artist. Mr. Brougham was warmly congratulated by the local chairman. "We shall call on you again, Brougham," he said gayly. Mr. Brougham nodded, but his thought was: Is nothing enough for these fellows? His two boys were waiting for him at the stage door. "You're good, sir, you're good!" they cried, patting him on the back. "I never thought he'd let them have it so mild," said Lawrence. Mr. Brougham did not mind being laughed at--at least he always said he didn't--but he couldn't bear to have patriotism in any form held up to ridicule. He thought to himself: "They don't know what it costs a man of my age to go on a stage and make a speech. I don't enjoy making myself conspicuous." "We'll stop and get your mother at the canteen," he said sternly. "Oh, yes, this is mother's night for saving the country, isn't it?" said Lawrence. "Did you know," said David to his brother, across his father's head, for they were both taller than he, "did you know that a gob tipped mother the other evening? So pleased with his coffee that he flicked her a dime for herself." "Oh, you sailor-boys!" said Lawrence in a high falsetto. This was really more than Mr. Brougham could bear in his exalted state. "I don't like that, boys," he said. "No, father," answered David; "but you know we never tipped mother; in fact, it's always been quite the other way." "I mean I don't like your tone of ridicule, of--of--of--" He couldn't think of the word he wanted, and felt conscious that David had it on the tip of his tongue but was too tactful to interrupt. "You boys don't seem to appreciate the sacrifice, the physical strain for a woman of your mother's age--standing all evening handing out sandwiches--not accustomed to hard work either."