where, wouldn't be preferable to drifting about interminably at sea.
One day in mid-April, seated at dinner in the Barton dining-room, Mrs. Barton as usual at the head of the table, and Robert as usual at the foot, Nathan made his quiet announcement. It was a complete surprise to the mother and son.
"I'm going away for a little while," he said.
"Going away?" Robert inquired. It hadn't been mentioned before.
"Yes," he went on, glancing down at the saltcellar, and keeping his eyes upon it. "Sailors have kind of wandering natures, you know. I've been thinking for some time I better be moving on to the next port."
"What port, Nathan?" asked the clergyman.
"Well, you see, the fact is," Nathan stumbled, "it's like this. Things get to rankling in your mind, you know how, and this war, ever since the United States decided to get into it—well, it's been sort of rankling in my mind. Perhaps I better wake up, and take a little part in things. Man of my age can't be putting energy into educating himself too finely, without some pretty good excuse, these times, seems to me."
"What do you mean? What foolish notion have you gone and got now?" demanded Mrs. Barton, with sudden energy.
"Well," Nathan shrugged, "I might as well get into it first as last."
"Are you going to enlist, Nathan?" Robert asked gravely.
Nathan was embarrassed. War had been declared only a fortnight. He didn't want to appear impulsive.
