WAR
She kissed Jon three times.
I have seen my son in battle—wounded—defeated—retreating—victorious—but I have never seen him as worked up as by those three kisses.
Thank God the train whistled for us just then. We were late.
That was too much for poor old Jon. He staggers back among his men, muttering:
"Attention!"
Evelyn followed him.
"The letter, Jon! The letter!"
Jon crushed Dave's letter, and putting it in his shirt, shakes his head no.
"Not to see it?"
"For God's sake, go!" says Jon, pushing her out of the ranks. "When I come back and all is peace—then!"
Then, savage as a bull of Bashan, Jon cleared the women out and double-quicked us to the train. There were no officers with their swords in both hands, stepping backward. There was no "By-the-right-wheel, Forward—
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