Plodding back from the city of El Paso to camp in the afternoon of a December day, Barriscale was caught in one of the violent sandstorms characteristic of that region. Swept, buffeted, blinded, drenched with the terrific downpour of rain, he reached the camp battered, breathless and exhausted. After three days of partial disability he developed a full case of pneumonia. The disease was not of the most severe type, however, and at no time was he considered to be desperately or even critically ill. But Lieutenant McCormack, the company commander, deemed it advisable to telegraph to Barriscale’s father the fact of his son’s illness. This he did on the third day after the nature of the disease had become definitely established. The telegram was an assuring one, but it brought Benjamin Barriscale, Sr., to Camp Stewart within thirty-six hours after its receipt. He found his son much improved, the crisis safely passed, and the young man on the sure road to recovery. He remained with him three days. It was on the afternoon of the second day, as he was sitting at the side of Ben’s cot which had been partitioned off by screens from the rest of the hospital ward, that the subject of their relations with Lieutenant Halpert McCormack came up. “I’ve nothing against him now,” said Ben. “I’ve seen him day in and day out for months, and in my opinion he’s a soldier and a gentleman.” The elder Barriscale sat for a moment in silence. “I may have been rather harsh in my judgment of him before the riot,” he said at last. “But I still think that his opinions and conduct justify my attitude toward him up to that time.” “That may be very true, father; but you’ll have to admit that he handled the situation that day in a masterly manner.” “Yes, I’ll admit that.” “And that his patience and judgment and firmness not only saved our property from destruction, but prevented much bloodshed and probably a city-wide disaster.” “I guess that’s true too.” “Then why haven’t we got the moral courage to acknowledge it, and tell him so, and put an end to this awkward restraint, and this uncomfortable attitude on the part of all of us?” Again the elder man hesitated. “He may still be a radical,” he replied; “and I don’t care to humble myself before a person of that type. When this ultra-socialist germ once finds lodgment in a young man’s mind, it’s no easy task to displace it.” “Well, I guess he’s got rid of it all right now.” The invalid raised himself on his elbow and added earnestly: “You know I believe McCormack’s one ambition to-day is to serve his country faithfully as a soldier.” “That’s a laudable ambition, I’m sure.” It was at this juncture that Lieutenant McCormack, having come to the hospital to visit the two or three of his men who were invalids there, was ushered by a nurse into the little apartment screened off for Barriscale. When he saw that the sick man had company he would have withdrawn, but Ben called to him.