"Get some of that pork off of him," observed Sergeant Keith, "and he'll do in a couple of Fritzes before he's through." "Me!" blurted Buzz, struggling now with his shirt. "A couple! Say, you don't know me. Whaddyou mean, a couple? I can lick a whole regiment of them beerheads with one hand tied behind me an' my feet in a sack." He emerged from the struggle with his shirt, his face very red, his hair rumpled. Sergeant Keith smiled a grim little smile. "Keep your shirt on, kid," he said, "and remember, this isn't a fist fight you're going into. It's war." Buzz, fumbling with his hat, put his question. "When--when do I go?" For he had signed his name in his round, boyish, sixth-grade scrawl. "To-morrow. Now listen to these instructions." "T-to-morrow?" gasped Buzz. He was still gasping as he reached the street and struck out toward home. To-morrow! When the Kearney girl again stepped out of the tree-shadows he stared at her as at something remote and trivial. "I thought you tried to give me the slip, Buzz. Where you been?" "Never mind where I've been." She fell into step beside him, but had difficulty in matching his great strides. She caught at his arm. At that Buzz turned and stopped. It was too dark to see his face, but something in his voice--something new, and hard, and resolute--reached even the choked and slimy cells of this creature's consciousness. "Now looka here. You beat it. I got somethin' on my mind to-night and I can't be bothered with no fool girl, see? Don't get me sore. I mean it." Her hand dropped away from his arm. "I didn't mean what I said about havin' you up, Buzz; honest t' Gawd I didn't." "I don't care what you meant." 'Will you meet me to-morrow night? Will you, Buzz?" "If I'm in this town to-morrow night I'll meet you. Is that good enough?" He turned and strode away. But she was after him. "Where you goin' to-morrow?" "I'm goin' to war, that's where." "Yes you are!" scoffed Miss Kearney. Then, at his silence: "You didn't go and do a fool thing like that?" "I sure did." "When you goin'?" "To-morrow." "Well, of all the big boobs," sneered Miss Kearney; "what did you go and do that for?" "Search _me_," said Buzz, dully. "Search _me_." Then he turned and went on toward home, alone. The Kearney girl's silly, empty laugh came back to him through the darkness. It might have been called a scornful laugh if the Kearney girl had been capable of any emotion so dignified as scorn. The family was still up. The door was open to the warm May night. The Werners, in their moments of relaxation, were as unbuttoned and highly _negligée_ as one of those group pictures you see of the Robert Louis Stevenson family. Pa, shirt-sleeved, stocking-footed, asleep in his chair. Ma's dress open at the front. Minnie, in an untidy kimono, sewing.