a day. He even made some effort at systematic exercise: swinging his arms, bending from his hips, and so on.
And he talked about his problem with the professors. Gravely, earnestly, he wrestled with his soul, mouthing with gusto the inspiring jargon of the crusade. For the present, said the professors, was his Place not Here? Did his Conscience tell him that he Had to go? If it did, they said gravely, they would say nothing more. But had he considered the Larger Issues?
“Is not,” said the Acting Dean persuasively, “is not this your Sector? Is your own Front Line not here on the campus? Is it not here that you must Go Over The Top? Oh, I know,” he went on with a smile of quiet pain, “I know it would be easier to go. I have had to fight that battle myself. But we are all part of the Army now; we are all enlisted in the Service of Liberty. We are all Mobilized for Truth. And each must Do His Bit where it will count for most.”
“Yes,” said Eugene, with a pale tortured face, “I know. I know it’s wrong. But oh, sir, —when I think of those murderous beasts, when I think of how they have menaced All that we Hold Dear, when I think of Little Belgium, and then of My Own Mother, My Own Sister—” He turned away, clenching his hands, madly in love with himself.
“Yes, yes,” said the Acting Dean gently, “for boys with a spirit like yours it’s not easy.”
“Oh, sir, it’s hard!” cried Eugene passionately. “I tell you it’s hard.”
“We must endure,” said the Dean quietly. “We must be tempered in the fire. The Future of Mankind hangs in the balance.”
Deeply stirred they stood together for a moment, drenched in the radiant beauty of their heroic souls.
Eugene was managing editor of the college paper. But, since the editor was enlisted in the corps, the entire work of publication fell to the boy. Every one was in the army. With the exception of a few dozen ratty Freshmen, a few cripples, and himself, every one, it seemed, was in the army. All of his fraternity brothers, all of his college mates, who had not previously enlisted,
