“You told me once that Uncle Zach Taylor said the hot place was paved with the failures of folks who ‘meant it all for the best,’ Dad.” “He never meant people like your mother, son. She does what she thinks is right. Remember we’re soldiers, you and I. And when soldiers are expecting a square meal and the commissary train gets lost they don’t whine. They just buckle their belts tighter and keep on the best they can. That’s the way it’s got to be with me for a while. It can’t be helped, and--” “It _can_ be helped, Dad. That’s why I sneaked in here to-night. We got to hold a council of war, you and I. And I guess I’m the one with the only idea.” “Fire away, general, but make it brief. It’s time little boys--I mean little generals--were asleep.” “No,” contradicted Jimmie. “It’s time they woke up, if they’re going to save Colonel Brinton. Listen, Dad: how far did you tell me you tramped in one day when you went on that hunting trip last April? Twenty-two miles, wasn’t it?” “Yes, about twenty-two. Why?” “Tuckered out after it?” “Not a bit. You see, I’m used to exercise. And the work I do in my garden keeps me in pretty good shape. But why--” “Dad, you can’t stay here.” “What? Has your mother--” “She hasn’t said a thing. I guess there’s nothing left for her to say. She’s said about everything already. But you can’t. It will be like being in jail. You saw how it was to-day. Well, it’ll be like that to-morrow and the next day and the next day after that and all the days. And it’ll keep getting worse.” The old man shuddered involuntarily at the prospect. Jimmie pressed his advantage. “There’s just one thing you got to do, colonel,” he declared, “you got to break prison.” “To--” “Yep. To--to absquatulate. To run away.” “Jimmie! I--” “Wait a second. I’m the general and this is a council of war. You got to run away. I’ve planned it all out. And I’ve planned where you’ve got to run away to.” “Where, general?” asked Dad in mild amusement as the boy paused for dramatic effect. “To sea, or the North Pole, or--” “To the front!” “Don’t, son!” expostulated Dad in sharp pain. “Don’t talk that way.” “Why not? You said you’d stay here because you thought you could be of use to mother. Well, you see what kind of use you are to her and how much she’d miss you if you were gone. Say, Dad--colonel--honest, I hate like poison to hurt your feelings by talking like that, but it’s true. So why don’t you hike out for the front? You’re crazy to go to the war. Just as I am. Only, you can do it and I can’t. No one’s got the right to stop _you_ or pack you back to school.” Dad fell back on the hard pillow, again staring wide-eyed up at the bare rafters. The drink-longing had left him, driven out by a fifty-fold stronger yearning. “To go to the front!” he muttered. “That’s it,” encouraged Jimmie. “That’s the idea, Dad. Why don’t you?” Dad sighed, the bright vision fading. “I can’t, boy,” he said simply.