But Sergeant Barriscale was not so considerate or conscientious. From the moment when Hal informed him that he would be a candidate he knew that he had a real fight on his hands and he set about the marshaling of his forces. He brought to bear in his favor every influence of which he, or any member of his family, or any civilian friend, was possessed. He used every possible argument against Sergeant McCormack’s promotion to the first lieutenancy that he or any of his supporters could think of. He denounced the patent unfairness of any one being permitted to jump two grades over the head of a present deserving superior officer. He characterized his opponent as a socialist, a radical, a dreamer, a pacifist, a nondescript citizen hesitating on the border of absolute disloyalty to his government in a time when virile patriotism was needed as never before. All the resources of political skill were resorted to to circumvent his rival. Under these conditions it was impossible to confine interest in the campaign to the rank and file of Company E. The whole city was stirred with the contest. Partisans arose on every hand. The life of the citizen soldier was not a happy one. He was besieged from all quarters. To some of them the European battle line would have been far to be preferred. Yet it was generally conceded that the chances, if the word could properly be used when the outcome had been figured with such mathematical precision, favored Sergeant Barriscale. He had more powerful friends, he was a more aggressive fighter, he handled every detail of the campaign with far more skill and thoroughness than did his opponent. On the evening before the election the contest reached its apparent climax. It was not a drill night, but a score or more of the enlisted men had gathered at the armory, and were standing or sitting in groups about the drill-hall. At nine o’clock Sergeant Barriscale came in. He came with a confident stride, and a look of contentment on his face. “It’s all over,” he said, “but the shouting. Giving McCormack the benefit of every doubtful vote, I shall win by a clear majority of seven.” General Chick, standing in the group that had gathered about the candidate, heard him. It was not a pleasant thing for Chick to hear. His whole heart had been set on the success of Sergeant McCormack. Daytime and night-time, in season and out of season, whether he met with rebuff, ridicule or condescension, he exploited the virtues of and solicited votes for his beloved candidate. To have Barriscale now, on the eve of the election, declare with such an air of confidence that he was sure to win out, was more than Chick could stand. “That ain’t so!” he shouted, shrilly. “You’re licked, and you know it!” The first sergeant’s face reddened, and the eyes he turned on the boy were blazing with wrath. “You insignificant little runt!” he cried, “how dare you speak to me!”