It was the wrong thing to say, and Pen knew it the moment he had said it. But the old man's appearance of feebleness had aroused in him the sudden thought that he ought not to be traveling alone, and, impulsively, he had given expression to the thought. Colonel Butler straightened his shoulders and turned upon his grandson a look of fine scorn.

"I came alone, sir," he replied. "How else did you expect me to come?"

"Why, I thought possibly Aunt Milly might have come along."

"In troublous times like these the woman's place is at the fire-side.

The man's duty should lead him wherever his country calls, or wherever he can be of service to a people defending themselves against the onslaught of armed autocracy."

"Yes, grandfather."

"I am therefore here to take counsel with certain men of judgment concerning the partic.i.p.ation of this country in the b.l.o.o.d.y struggle that is going on abroad. After that I shall proceed to Washington to urge upon the heads of our government my belief that the time is ripe to throw the weight of our influence, and the weight of our wealth, and the weight of our armies, into the scale with France and Great Britain for the subjugation of those central powers that are waging upon these gallant countries a most unjust and unrighteous war."

"Yes, grandfather; I agree with you."

"Of course you do, sir. No right-minded man could fail to agree with me. And I shall tender my sword and my services, to be at the disposal of my country, in whatever branch of the service the Secretary of War may see fit to a.s.sign me as soon as war is declared. As a matter of fact, sir, we are already at war with Germany. Both by land and sea she has, for the last year, been making open war upon our commerce, on our citizens, on the integrity of our government. It is exasperating, sir, exasperating beyond measure, to see the authorities at Washington drifting aimlessly and unpreparedly into an armed conflict which is bound to come. Our president should demand from congress at once a declaration that a state of war exists with Germany, and with that declaration should go a system of organized preparedness, and then, sir, we should go to Europe and fight, and, thus fighting, help our Allies and save our native land. It shall be my errand to Washington to urge such an aggressive course."

Of his belief in his theory there could be no doubt. Of his earnestness in advocating it there was not the slightest question. His profound sympathy with the Allies did credit to his heart as well as his judgment. And the devotion of this one-armed and enfeebled veteran to the cause of his own country, his eagerness to serve her in the field and his confidence in his ability still to do so, were pathetic as well as inspiring. It was all so big, and patriotic, and splendid, even in its childish egotism and simplicity, that the pure absurdity of it found no place in the mind of this affectionate and manly-hearted boy.

"I believe you are right, grandfather," he said, "and it's n.o.ble of you to offer your services that way."

"Thank you, sir!"

The colonel turned as if to move toward the information desk at the office, and then turned back.

"Pardon me!" he said, "but I forgot to inquire concerning your own errand in the city."

"I am on my way to Canada, grandfather."

A look of surprise came into the old man's eyes, followed at once by an expression of infinite scorn. He remembered that, in the days of the civil war, slackers and rebel sympathizers who wished to evade the draft made their way across the national border into Canada. They had received the contempt of their own generation and had drawn a figurative bar-sinister across the shield of their descendants. Could it be possible that this grandchild of his was about to add disgrace to disloyalty? That, in addition to heaping insults on the flag of his country as a boy, he was now, as a man, taking time by the forelock and escaping to the old harbor of safety to avoid some possible future conscription? The absurdity and impracticability of such a proposition did not occur to him at the moment, only the humiliation and the horror of it.

"To Canada, sir?" he demanded; "the refuge of cowards and copperheads!

Why to Canada, sir, in the face of this impending crisis in your country's affairs?"

His voice rose at the end in angry protest. The look of scorn that blazed from under his gray eye-brows was withering in its intensity.

Pen, who was sufficiently familiar with the history of the civil war to know what lay in his grandfather's mind, answered quickly but quietly:

"I am going to Canada to enlist."

"To--to what? Enlist?"

"Yes; in the American Legion; to fight under the Union Jack in France."

A pillar stood near by, and the colonel backed up against it for support. The shock of the surprise, the sudden revulsion of feeling, left him nerveless.

"And you--you are going to war?"

He could not quite believe it yet. He wanted confirmation.

"Yes, grandfather; I'm going to war. I couldn't stay out of it. Until my own country takes up arms I'll fight under another flag. When she does get into it I hope to fight under the Stars and Stripes."

A wonderful look came into the old man's face, a look of pride, of satisfaction, of unadulterated joy. His mouth twitched as though he desired to speak and could not. Then, suddenly, he thrust out his one arm and seized Pen's hand in a mighty and affectionate grip. In that moment the sorrow, the bitterness, the estrangement of years vanished, never to return.

"I am proud of you, sir!" he said. "You are worthy of your ill.u.s.trious ancestors. You are maintaining the best traditions of Bannerhall."

"I'm glad you're pleased, grandfather."

"Pleased is too mild an expression. I am rejoiced. It is the proudest moment of my life." He stepped away from the pillar, straightened his shoulders, and gazed benignantly on his grandson. "Not that I especially desire," he added after a moment, "that you should be subjected to the hazards and the hardships of a soldier's life. That goes without saying. But it is the hazards and the hardships he faces that make the soldier a hero. Death itself has no terrors for the patriotic brave. '_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._'"

His eyes wandered away into some alluring distance and his thought into the fields of memory, and for a moment he was silent. Nor did Pen speak. He felt that the occasion was too momentous, the event too sacred to be spoiled by unnecessary words from him.

It was the colonel who at last broke the silence.

"It is not an opportune time," he said, "to speak of the past. But, as to the future, you may rest in confidence. While you are absent your mother shall be looked after. Her every want shall be supplied. It will be my delight to attend to the matter personally."

Swift tears sprang to Pen's eyes. Surely the beautiful, the tender side of life was again turning toward him. It was with difficulty that he was able sufficiently to control his voice to reply:

"Thank you, grandfather! You are very good to us."

"Do not mention it! How about your own wants? Have you money sufficient to carry you to your destination?"

"Thank you! I have all the money I need."

"Very well. I shall communicate with you later, and see that you lack nothing for your comfort. Will you kindly send me your address when you are permanently located in your training camp?"

"Yes, I will."

Pen glanced at his watch and saw that he had but a few minutes left in which to catch his train.

"I'm sorry, grandfather," he said, "but when I met you I was just starting for the station to take my train north; and now, if I don't hurry, I'll get left."

He held out his hand and the old man grasped it anew.

"Penfield, my boy;" his voice was firm and brave as he spoke.

"Penfield, my boy, quit yourself like the man that you are! Remember whose blood courses in your veins! Remember that you are an American citizen and be proud of it. Farewell!"

He parted his white moustache, bent over, pressed a kiss upon his grandson's forehead, swung him about to face the door, and watched his form as he retreated. When he turned again he found his friend, Colonel Marshall, standing at his side.

"I have just bidden farewell," he said proudly, "to my grandson, Master Penfield Butler, who is leaving on the next train for Canada where he will go into training with the American Legion, and eventually fight under the Union Jack, on the war-scarred fields of France."

"He is a brave and patriotic boy," replied Colonel Marshall.

"It is in his blood and breeding, sir. No Butler of my line was ever yet a coward, or ever failed to respond to a patriotic call."

And as for Pen, midnight found him speeding northward with a heart more full and grateful, and a purpose more splendidly fixed, than his life had ever before known.

CHAPTER XI