Let some one else go."
"Suppose every one said that," exclaimed Harold. "We shouldn't have much
of an army and our country wouldn't be very well defended, would it?"
"Let him go," said Mr. Cook quietly to his wife. "I don't want him killed
any more than you do, but there are some things worse than that. Suppose
he was afraid to go; you'd be ashamed of your son then I know."
"How do you know I'm going to get killed anyway?" demanded Harold. "Every
one that goes to war doesn't get killed. At any rate it's sort of
gruesome to sit up and hear your family talk as if you were just as good
as dead already."
"True enough," laughed Mr. Cook. "When does your examination come?"
"Next Monday."
"Will you wear a uniform?" asked Louise.
"Why, certainly," said Harold, swelling out his chest at the thought.
"I wish I could enlist," sighed Bob.
"You're too young, I told you," said Harold scornfully.
"I'll bet I could fight as well as you could," said Bob stoutly.
"Besides, I'm big for my age and maybe if I told them I was older than I
really am they might take me.
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