When Europe went to war, Eph little by little forsook the gentler melodies of his repertoire; he chose songs with a martial swing. He chose them by ear and by words; and when he sang them, there was the blare of bugles in his voice. He was, from the beginning, violently anti-German; and now and then, when his enthusiasm overcame him, he delivered an oration on the subject to his nightly audience. At which they laughed. But if it was a joke to them, it was not funny to Eph; and he proved this when the United States went into the war. He went, unostentatiously, to the recruiting office and offered himself to the country. The Sergeant in charge did not smile at old Eph, because he saw that Eph himself was deadly serious. Eph had said simply: “I’ve come to jine up in de army, suh.” The Sergeant asked: “You mean you want to enlist.” Eph nodded, and grinned. “Yas suh, jes dat.” The Sergeant frowned, and he considered. “I’ll tell you, old man,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re over the age limit.” “Whut de age limit?” Eph asked cautiously. “Forty-five.” Eph cackled with delight. “I declare, dat jes lets me in. Me, I’m gwine on fo’ty-four, dis minute.” The Sergeant grinned. “Get out!” he protested. “You’ll never see seventy-four again.” “I kin prove it,” Eph offered. The other shook his head. “You’re too old; and your eyes are no good, and your teeth are gone, and you’ve got flat-foot....” Eph perceived that the man was friendly. “I can p’int a gun an’ pull a trigger,” he urged wheedlingly. “There’s more than that to war,” the Sergeant told him; and Eph’s eyes blazed. “Whut you know ’bout war, man?” he demanded. “Ain’ I been in it. Ain’ I slep’ in de rain, an’ et raw corn, an’ fit in mud to de knees, an’ got a bullet in my laig, an’ laid out in de snow three days till they come an’ fotch me in. Don’ you let on about war to me, man. I been it and I done it, befo’ you uz thought of. Go way!” Eph was so deadly earnest that the Sergeant’s eyes misted. The Sergeant himself knew what it was to grow old. He had a terrible, sneaking fear that they would keep him on such duty as this; that he would never see France. And he crossed, and dropped his hand on Eph’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s no go. We can’t take you.” Eph passed from anger to pleading. “Spose’n I uz to go along an’ sing to um,” he proposed. “I c’d do that, anyways.” “No. They wouldn’t allow you....” “I’m a jim dandy cook,” Eph offered pitifully. The Sergeant had to swear or weep. He swore. “Get out of here, you damned old scamp,” he exclaimed, and swept Eph toward the door. “Get out of here and stay out, or I’ll have you run in....”