Billy Waldon, especially, was a mine of information and suggestion, and as they threw themselves into the work with all their heart and soul it was not long before they could feel that they were graduating from the "rookie" class and becoming regular soldiers. Their commanding officers looked on them with approval and secretly wished that all of their recruits might be of the same high-class type. "You're going along like a house afire, fellows," said Billy, after drill had ended one morning. "The manual of arms is just pie for you. Kitchener used to think that it took a year to turn out a soldier. I'll bet if he'd been on this side of the water he'd have felt differently. "I'm glad you think so," said Frank. "But after all, we're just going through the motions now. The test will come a little later on." "I'd bet on you now or any time," answered Billy. The looked-for orders came at last from Washington, and there was a great stir and bustle at the armory. Then the next morning the great doors swung open and the regiment marched forth, headed by its band. Through the old familiar streets it marched, amid the cheers and tears of those who packed the sidewalks, past the commercial house of Moore and Thomas, where old Peterson waved his hand tremulously and Reddy, with Oliver Twist perched upon his shoulder, shouted himself hoarse and nearly fell out of the window in his enthusiasm, down to the railroad station where the long train waited for them. There they broke ranks while friends and relatives, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, sweethearts and wives, crowded around them, pressing last gifts into their hands, caressing them, enthusing them, crying over them, until the warning whistle blew and they were forced to tear themselves away. Those few moments had been precious ones to Frank and his mother, for in them they had compressed a world of affection, that fell from their lips and looked from their eyes. "I won't say good-bye, little Mother," said Frank. "It's just _au revoir_." "Yes, dear," agreed his mother tremulously. "_Au revoir_. What is that?" she interrupted herself with a start. "Ah, it is the whistle. My boy, my boy, I cannot let you go. Yes, I will be brave," Frank turned his head aside to hide his own emotion as his mother pathetically tried to smile. "There, go, dear, go,--before my resolution breaks entirely. _Au revoir_--my boy--my boy--" With a little strangled sound in his throat Frank tore himself away and, without trusting himself to look back, climbed into the car with his jostling comrades. Then he leaned far out of the window, caught his mother to him and kissed her. The whistle shrieked again, and amid a storm of cheers and waving of handkerchiefs the train moved out. The old Thirty-seventh had started on the road to victory! CHAPTER IX A NEW LIFE