“I can’t help blowing up,” Fred went on.  “I want to say, though, I know I’m not very considerate to blow up about her to you this way.  I’ve been playing horse with you about her ever since freshman year, but—­well, you must have understood, Ram, I never meant anything that would really bother you much, and I thought—­well, I really thought it was a good thing, you—­your—­well, I mean about her, you know.  I’m on, all right.  I know it’s pretty serious with you.”  He paused.

Ramsey did not move, except that his right hand still fidgeted with the pen upon the table.

“Oh—­well—­” he said.

“It’s—­it’s kind of tough luck!” his friend contrived to say; and he began to pace the floor again.

“Oh—­well—­”

“See here, ole stick-in-the-mud,” Fred broke out abruptly.  “After her saying what she did—­ Well, it’s none o’ my business, but—­but—­”

“Well, what?” Ramsey murmured.  “I don’t care what you say, if you want to say anything.”

“Well, I got to say it,” Fred half groaned and half blurted.  “After she said that—­and she meant it—­why, if I were in your place I’d be darned if I’d be seen out walking with her again.”

“I’m not going to be,” Ramsey said, quietly.

“By George!” And now Fred halted in front of him, both being huskily solemn.  “I think I understand a little of what that means to you, old Ramsey; I think I do.  I think I know something of what it costs you to make that resolution for your country’s sake.”  Impulsively he extended his hand.  “It’s a pretty big thing for you to do.  Will you shake hands?”

But Ramsey shook his head.  “I didn’t do it.  I wouldn’t ever have done anything just on account of her talkin’ that way.  She shut the door on me—­it was a good while ago.”

“She did!  What for?”

“Well, I’m not much of a talker, you know, Fred,” said Ramsey, staring at the pen he played with.  “I’m not much of anything, for that matter, prob’ly, but I—­well—­I—­”

“You what?”

“Well, I had to tell her I didn’t feel about things the way she did.  She’d thought I had, all along, I guess.  Anyway, it made her hate me or something, I guess; and she called it all off.  I expect there wasn’t much to call off, so far as she was concerned, anyhow.”  He laughed feebly.  “She told me I better go and enlist.”

“Pleasant of her!” Fred muttered.  “Especially as we know what she thinks enlisting means.”  He raised his voice cheerfully.  “Well, that’s settled; and, thank God, old Mr. Bernstorff’s on his way to his sweet little vine-clad cottage home!  They’re getting guns on the ships, and the big show’s liable to commence any day.  We can hold up our heads now, and we’re going to see some great times, old Ramsey boy!  It’s hard on the home folks—­Gosh!  I don’t like to think of that!  And I guess it’s going to be hard on a lot of boys that haven’t understood what it’s all about, and hard on some that their