Again he glanced with polite furtiveness at his desk. But Dad did not take the hint nor even notice the look. His face aglow, the old fellow had stretched forth his hand, half-rising eagerly from his seat. “Joe, my boy,” he cried, gripping the slender and wholly unresponsive fingers of his son, “I’m proud of you! Plumb proud of you! You’ll make the fifth generation of fighting Brintons. This news does me good clear down to the ground. I was afraid you’d think business came first. I’m glad to see your Brinton blood’s red enough to make you forget work for a while and send you hustling out to fight for your country.” The younger man smiled with gentle indulgence into his father’s flushed face. “I’m afraid, sir,” said he, “that I can’t claim much credit for headlong patriotism. To be frank, this is going to prove one of the best strokes of business I ever did. You see, the most farseeing men believe the war will not last more than three months longer at most. It may even be over before we get to the front.” “But--” “But the spirit of hysterical excitement that goes under the name of patriotism has swept the whole country. Men who go to the front are acclaimed as heroes. Those who stay sanely at home suffer by comparison. “It will be a good thing for me in this town and in the State and in the future handling of government contracts if I go on record as joining the army at this juncture. “I am a one-year man. If the war ends earlier--as it will--many months earlier--I have influence enough, I think, to get my discharge. In any event, my patriotism will be a good thing for the firm and for my future here. Business is slack just now, and--” “And this is your idea of serving your country!” gasped Dad. “You measure out your services to the flag as your clerks measure out velvet! You sneer at patriotism, you whose father and grandfather and great-grandfather--But, lad, you’re joking! You were always undemonstrative. You’re cloaking your act of self-sacrifice under--” “No, sir,” said Joseph, smiling again at the veteran’s outburst. “I am quite sincere. I wish I might claim the noble intentions you try to credit me with. But claptrap is not in my line. It is useful with the public. But I don’t waste it in talking with members of my family.” The old man stared slack-jawed at his faultlessly correct son. Then his mouth snapped shut very suddenly to choke back a flood of furious rebuke. Joseph glanced down at his own polished nails; glanced again at the work-laden desk and then remarked: “I think you said something had ‘upset’ you? That was the term, I think. Can I be of any use?” “Yes,” snorted Dad. “Yes, you can. I was half-afraid to speak of it before. But I’m not now. Joe, I want to go to this war. I want to enlist.” “Nonsense, father! You’re too old, for one thing. And besides--” “Too old? I’m not quite fifty-five. Down South, men of sixty and seventy, and boys as young as Jimmie are already enlisting.”