He pressed her down. "Please, ma! I'm full up. I couldn't. They had pink ice-cream, too, with pink cake and--" "Such mess-food what is bad for you. I'm surprised how Clara keeps her good complexion. Let me fix you some fried--" "Ma, I tell you I couldn't. It's ten o'clock. You mustn't try to fatten me up so. In war-time a man has got to be lean." She sat back suddenly and whitely quiet. "That's--twice already to-day, Sam, you talk like that." He took up her lax hand, moving each separate finger up and down, eyes lowered. "Why not? Doesn't it ever strike you, mamma, that you and me are--are kidding ourselves along on this war business, pretending to each other there ain't no war?" She laid a quick hand to her breast. "What you mean, Sammy?" "Why, you know what I mean, ma. I notice you read the war news pretty closely, all right." "Sammy, you mean something!" "Now, ma, there's no need to get excited right away. Think of the mothers who haven't even got bank-accounts whose sons have got to go." "Sammy--you 'ain't been--" "No, no; I haven't." "You have! I can see it in your face! You've come home with some news to break. You been drafted!" He held her arms to her sides, still pressing her down to her chair. "I tell you I haven't! Can't you take my word for it?" "Swear to me, Sammy!" "All right; I swear." "Swear to me on your dead father who is an angel in heaven!" "I swear--thataway." She was still pressing against her breathing. "You're keeping something back. Sammy, is it that we got mail from Germany? From Aunt Carrie? Bad news--O my God!" "No! No! Who could I get mail from there any more than you've been getting it for the last two years? Mamma, if you're going to be this excitable and get yourself sick, I won't talk over anything with you. I'll quit." "You got something, Sammy, to break to me. I can read you like a book." "I'm done. If I can't talk facts over with you without your going to pieces this way, I'm done. I quit." She clasped her hands, her face pleading up to him. "Sammy, what is it? If you don't tell me, I can't stand it. Sammy?" "Will you sit quiet and not get excited?" "Please, Sammy, I will." "It's this: you see, ma, the way the draft goes. When a fellow's called to war, drafted, he's got to go, no questions asked. But when a fellow enlists for war, volunteers, you see, before the government calls him, then thataway he can pick out for himself the thing he wants to be in the army. Y'see? And then maybe the thing he picks out for himself can keep him right here at home. Y'see, ma--so he don't have to go away. See the point?" "You mean when a boy enlists he offers himself instead of gets offered." "Exactly." "You got something behind all this. You mean you--you want to enlist." "Now, ma--you see, if I was to enlist--and stay right here in this country--with you near the camp or, as long as it's too rough life for you, with--with Clara there--a woman to look in on--"