Asher.  Oh, you’re here, George.

George (looking, at Asher).  Something troubling you?

Asher (attempting dissimulation).  Well, you’re going off to France, they’ve only given you two days’ leave, and I’ve scarcely seen anything of you.  Isn’t that enough?

George.  I know how busy you’ve been with that government contract on your hands.  I wish I could help.

Asher.  You’re in the army now, my boy.  You can help me again when you come back.

George.  I want to get time to go down to the shops and say goodbye to some of the men.

Asher.  No, I shouldn’t do that, George.

George (surprised).  Why not?  I used to be pretty chummy with them, you know,—­smoke a pipe with them occasionally in the noon hour.

Asher.  I know.  But it doesn’t do for an employer to be too familiar with the hands in these days.

George.  I guess I’ve got a vulgar streak in me somewhere, I get along with the common people.  There’ll be lots of them in the trenches, dad.

Asher.  Under military discipline.

George (laughing).  We’re supposed to be fighting a war for democracy.  I was talking to old Bains yesterday,—­he’s still able to run a lathe, and he was in the Civil War, you know.  He was telling me how the boys in his regiment stopped to pick blackberries on the way to the battle of Bull Run.

Asher.  That’s democracy!  It’s what we’re doing right now—­stopping to pick blackberries.  This country’s been in the war six months, since April, and no guns, no munitions, a handful of men in France—­while the world’s burning!

George.  Well, we won’t sell Uncle Sam short yet.  Something is bothering you, dad.

Asher.  No—­no, but the people in Washington change my specifications every week, and Jonathan’s arriving today, of all days.

George.  Has Dr. Jonathan turned up?

Asher.  I haven’t seen him yet.  It seems he got here this morning.  No telegram, nothing.  And he had his house fixed up without consulting me.  He must be queer, like his father, your great uncle, Henry Pindar.

George.  Tell me about Dr. Jonathan.  A scientist,—­isn’t he?  Suddenly decided to come back to live in the old homestead.

Asher.  On account of his health.  He was delicate as a boy.  He must have been about eight or nine years old when Uncle Henry left Foxon Falls for the west,—­that was before you were born.  Uncle Henry died somewhere in Iowa.  He and my father never got along.  Uncle Henry had as much as your grandfather to begin with, and let it slip through his fingers.  He managed to send Jonathan to a medical school, and it seems that he’s had some sort of a position at Johns Hopkins’s—­research work.  I don’t know what he’s got to live on.

George.  Uncle Henry must have been a philanthropist.