Their decision was made one day after a brisk six rounds of mimic battle. They soaped and bathed and dried their bodies. Then they rested--sitting upon up-ended beer kegs in the storeroom of Pegleg McCarron--and talked a little of life. Spike for a week had been laconic, even for him, and had taken little trouble to pull his punches.

To-day he revealed that the Interests had triumphed over his simple mind. He was going and going quick. He recovered a morsel of gum from beneath the room's one chair, put it again into commission, and spoke decisively.

"I'm goin' quick," he said.

"When do we leave?" demanded Wilbur.

"I'm leavin' in two days."

"We're leaving in two days."

They chewed gum for an interval.

"Way it is," said Spike at length, "I'm nothing but about a fourth-rater in my game. I wasn't never a first-rater. I used to kid myself I was, but handier guys took it out of me. Never was better than a third-rater, I guess. But maybe in this other game I could git to be a first-rater.

You can't tell. I still got the use of myself, ain't I? And I wouldn't be so much afraid as a guy who never fought no fights at all. It looks good to me. Of course I don't know much about this here talk you read--makin' the world safe for Democrats, and so forth, but they's certain parts of it had ought to be made unsafe for Germans. I got that much straight."

"Where do we go from here?" demanded Wilbur Cowan.

"N'York," said Spike. "Enlist there. I got a friend in Tamm'ny will see we git treated right."

"Treated right--how?"

"Sent over quick--not kept here. This guy is high up; he can get us sent."

"Good!"

"Only thing worries me," said Spike--"sleepin' out of doors. It ain't healthy. They tell me you sleep any old place--on the ground or in a chicken coop--makes no matter. I never did sleep out of doors, and I hate to begin now; but I s'pose I got to. Mebbe, time we git there, they'll have decent beds. I admit I'm afraid of sleepin' out on the ground. It ain't no way to keep your health."

He ruminated busily with the gum.

"Another thing, kid, you got to remember. In the box-fightin' game sometimes even second money is good. I pulled down a few nice purses in my time. But this here gun-fightin' stuff, it's winner take all every time. In a gun fight second money is mud. Remember that. And we ain't got the education to be officers. We got to do plain fightin'."

"Plain fighting!" echoed Wilbur. "And I'll tell you another thing. From what I hear they might put me to driving a car, but you bet I ain't going to take that long trip and get seasick, probably, just to fool round with automobiles. I'm going to be out where you are--plain fighting. So remember this--I don't know a thing about cars or motors.

Never saw one till I come into the Army."

"You're on!" said Spike. "Now let's eat while we can. They tell me over in the war your meals is often late."

They ate at T-bone Tommy's, consuming a vast quant.i.ty of red meat with but a minor accompaniment of vegetables. They were already soldiers.

They fought during the meal several sharp engagements, from which they emerged without a scratch.

"We'll be takin' a lot of long chances, kid," cautioned Spike. "First thing we know--they might be saying it to us with flowers."

"Let 'em talk!" said the buoyant Wilbur. "Of course we'll get into trouble sooner or later."

"Sure!" agreed Spike. "Way I look at it, I got about one good fight left in me. All I hope is, it'll be a humdinger."

Later they wandered along River Street, surveying the little town with new eyes. They were far off---"over where the war was taking place," as Spike neatly put it--surveying at that long range the well-remembered scene; revisiting it from some remote spot where perhaps it had been said to them with flowers.

"We'd ought to tell Herman Vielhaber," said Spike. "Herman's a Heinie, but he's a good scout at that."

"Sure!" agreed Wilbur.

They found Herman alone at one of his tables staring morosely at an untouched gla.s.s of beer. The Vielhaber establishment was already suffering under the stigma of pro-Germanism put upon it by certain of the watchful towns-people. Judge Penniman, that hale old invalid, had even declared that Herman was a spy, and signalled each night to other spies by flapping a curtain of his lighted room above the saloon. The judge had found believers, though it was difficult to explain just what information Herman would be signalling and why he didn't go out and tell it to his evil confederates by word of mouth. Herman often found trade dull of an evening now, since many of his old clients would patronize his rival, Pegleg McCarron; for Pegleg was a fervent patriot who declared that all Germans ought to be in h.e.l.l. Herman greeted the newcomers with troubled cordiality.

"Sed down, you boys. What you have? Sa.s.spriller? All right! Mamma, two sa.s.sprillers for these young men."

Minna Vielhaber brought the drink from the bar. Minna had red eyes, and performed her service in silence, after which she went moodily back to her post.

They drank to Herman's health and to Minna's, and told of their decision.

"Right!" said Herman. "I give you right." He stared long at his beer. "I tell you, boys," he said at last, "mamma and me we got in a hard place, yes. Me? I'm good American--true blue. I got my last papers twenty-two years ago. I been good American since before that. Mamma, too. Both good. Then war comes, and I remember the Fatherland--we don't never furgit that, mind you, even so we are good Americans. But I guess mebbe I talk a lot of foolishness about Germany whipping everybody she fight with. I guess I was too proud of that country that used to be mine. You know how it is, you boys; you remember your home and your people kind of nice, mebbe."

"Sure!" said Spike. "Me? I was raised down back of the tracks in Buffalo--one swell place fur a kid to grow up--but honest, sometimes I git waked up in the night, and find m'self homesick fur that rotten dump. Sure, I know how you feel, Herman."

Herman, cheered by this sympathy, drank of his beer. Putting down the gla.s.s, he listened intently. Minna, at the bar, was heard to be weeping.

"Mamma," he called, gruffly, "you keep still once. None of that!"

Minna audibly achieved the commanded silence. Herman listened until satisfied of this, then resumed:

"Well, so fur, so good. Then Germany don't act right, so my own country got to fight her. She's got to fight her! I'd get me another country if she didn't. But now people don't understand how I feel so. They say: 'Yes, he praise Germany to the sky; now I guess he talk the other side of his mouth purty good.' They don't understand me. I want Germany should be punished good, and my country she's goin' to do it good. That is big in my heart. But shall I go out on the street and holler, 'To h.e.l.l with Germany?' Not! Because people would know I lied, and I would know. I want Germany should be well whipped till all them sheep's heads is out of high places, but I can't hate Germans. I could punish someone good and not hate 'em. I'm a German in my blood, but you bet I ain't a pro-German.

"Mamma, again I tell you keep still once--and now you boys goin' to fight. That's good! Me, I would go if I was not too old; not a better German fighter would they have than me. I kill 'em all what come till I fall over myself. You boys remember and fight hard, so we make the world nice again. I bet you fight good--strong, husky boys like you. And I hope you come back strong and hearty and live a long time in a world you helped to put it right. I hope some day you have children will be proud because you was good Americans, like mine would be if we had a little one. I hope you teach 'em to fight quick for their own good country.

Now--_prosit_!"

They drank, and in the stillness Minna Vielhaber was again heard to be lamenting. Herman addressed her harshly:

"Mamma, now again I beg you shall keep still once."

Minna appeared from back of the bar and became coherent.

"I wa.s.sn't cryin' no tears for Germans--wa.s.s cryin' fur them!" She waved a damp towel at Herman's guests. Herman soothed her.

"Now, now--them boys take care of themselves. Likely they have a little trouble here and there or some place, but they come back sound--I tell you that. Now you dry up--you make some other people feel that way. Hear me?" Minna subsided.

"You bet," resumed Herman, "we're Americans good. Mebbe I can't tell people so now, like they believe me; it's hard to believe I want Germans whipped good if I don't hate 'em, but it's true--and lots others besides me. They come in my place, Dagoes, Wops, Hunnyacks, Swedes, Jews, every breed, and what you think--they keep talkin' about what us Americans had ought to do to lick Germany. It's funny, yes? To hear 'em say us Americans, but when you know them foreigners mean it so hard--well, it ain't funny! It's good!

"And me? Say, I tell you something. If any one say I ain't good American I tell you this: I stand by America like I was born here. I stand by her if she fight Germany just as if she fight France. I stand by her in war, and I do more than that. You listen! Now comes it they say the country's goin' to be dry and put me out of business. What you think of that, hey?

So they will shut booze joints like that feller McCarron runs, and even a nice place like this. So you can't buy a gla.s.s beer or a schoppen Rhine wine. What you think? Mebbe it's all talk, mebbe not. But listen!

This is my country, no matter what she does; I stand by her if she fights Germany to death; and by G.o.d, I stand by her if she goes dry!

Could I say more? _Prosit_!"

CHAPTER XVI

The next day Wilbur Cowan sought Sharon Whipple with the news that he meant to do a bit of plain fighting overseas. He found the old man in the stable, in troubled controversy with a rebellious car. He sat stonily at the wheel and at intervals pressed a determined heel upon a self-starter that would whir but an impotent protest. He glared up at Wilbur as the latter came to rest beside the car.