Percy Falconer was the dude of Deepdale, whom the other vigorous and hearty young folks pitied more than they despised. "I wonder if he'll enlist," said Roy interestedly. "It's kind of hard to picture old Percy washing his own dishes." "Enlist!" snorted Frank. "Of course he won't. He'll wait till he's drafted, and then pray every night that he'll be sick or something, so he won't have to go. I know his kind." "Oh, there'll probably be a lot that will try to dodge the draft by dropping hammers on their toes, and cutting off their fingers and all such clever and noble little things as that," said Allen. "Oh, Allen, do you think so?" asked Amy, gazing at him with horrified eyes over her knitting. "Why, of course," Roy backed him up. "It won't happen so much among our boys. The slum districts will get most of it. Some of those suckers would do almost anything to get out of fighting." "Goodness," said Betty, with a little shiver. "I should think it would take lots more courage to hurt yourself than to take a chance on getting shot in the trenches. I don't see how anybody can do it." "Oh, they're doing worse things than that," said Allen with a chuckle. "Hundreds of the scared ones are getting married in the hope that they can get out of it that way." "Jumping from the frying pan into the fire," grinned Roy. "Or from one war to another," added Frank, while the girls made faces at them. "But isn't Congress going to pass some sort of law," asked Betty earnestly--Allen reflected how very pretty she was when in earnest--"that will make that kind of man serve first? It seems to me I read something about it in the paper." "Goodness, I don't even get time to read the paper any more," sighed Amy. "I feel wicked if I stop knitting for five minutes." "We'll allow you that much," said Allen graciously. "Why, yes, there is a law like that pending, Betty, and I imagine there will be quite a few happy homes broken up." "Did you hear about Herb Wilson?" asked Roy suddenly. Herbert Wilson was another of the Deepdale boys. "No," was the answer. "What's he been doing now?" "Why, he was spending the week-end at a house party when his folks telegraphed him that his orders had come, and he was to report for duty the next morning. Well, the poor old chap didn't even have time to get home and say goodbye--had to rush off the next morning and was sent down South. His mother came over to see mine, and, the way she went on about it, you'd have thought Herb was going to be shot at sunrise!" "Herb ought to answer like the old negro my uncle had on his plantation," remarked Allen with a smile. "'Marse,' he said, 'dar ain't no chaince o' my bein' shot at sunrise--no, sah. I don' never git up dat early.'" They laughed, and Grace remarked casually: "I admire that negro. He has my own idea exactly."