"You'd get shot for nothing, boy," the soldier replied, halting as he strode off. "One trained soldier is worth fifty raw civilians. The greenhorn wastes ammunition, eats food, and is no manner of good. He's sick half the time. When there's an advance he wants to lead the way and runs into the fire of his own artillery. When there's a retreat, he starts a panic. When he's on sentry-duty he hears a suspicious noise about once in every three minutes. When he's told to do something he doesn't like, he tries to argue about it. If you want to be a soldier, boy, join it in the right way and learn your soldiering like a man. Then, if a war comes, you can do your duty until you're killed; or, if you're invalided home crippled, or blinded, or with a serious wound which will prevent you from further fighting, you can thank your stars that you were born lucky." "And I did so want to fight!" said Horace mournfully, as the infantryman moved away. "You may have the chance," remarked the hunchback, a curious glint in his eyes. "How long do you think the war will last?" "A month or two?" hazarded the boy. "I shouldn't be surprised if it lasted a year or two," came the reply, "that is, unless the Germans smash our lines before we have a chance to stiffen them." "Well," said Horace, "if it lasts a year or two, I can learn!" "Yes," said Croquier, "we'll all learn." That afternoon, the officer sent for Horace and his companion. "Namur has fallen!" he said, as soon as they were alone. Croquier's jaw fell. "Already, sir!" he said. "I thought it wouldn't hold out very long." "Yes," said the officer, "Von Buelow seems to have learned from Liége. You were there, were you not?" "I was, sir," the hunchback answered; "we lived just a mile from Fort Embourg." "Did you see any of the fighting?" "Only the bombardment." "Or hear any details?" "Yes, sir," Croquier replied, "mainly from the wounded. I was in hiding, though, and the lad, here, heard more than I did." Thus prompted, Horace told all that he knew of the story of the attack on Liége, of the fearful loss of life in the massed attacks and of the valor of the defense, as he had been told by the wounded officers and men nursed by Aunt Abigail. "They never gave us a chance like that," the officer sighed. "Namur had no defense. Von Buelow's too wise a fox of warcraft to waste men when guns will do the trick. It seems he brought his 42-centimeter guns into position five miles from Namur about sundown yesterday. All the ranges had been tested out by the bombardments during the two days before with the lighter guns.