"Kinda quiet to-day, ain't it?" he offered, trudging a foot or two
behind.
"It is, rather, young man."
"Mostly on Saturdays I caddie for Mr. Valentine. But he's gone
to the war."
"Oh, he has, has he?" Clayton built a small tee, and placed his
ball on it. "Well, maybe we'll all be going some day."
He drove off and started after the ball. It was not until he was
on the green that he was conscious of the boy beside him again.
"How old d'you have to be to get into the army, Mr. Spencer?"
inquired the caddie, anxiously.
Clayton looked at him quizzically.
"Want to try for it, do you? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait
a bit."
"I'm older than I look, Mr. Spencer."
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Afraid you'll have to wait a while," said Clayton and achieved a
well-nigh perfect long putt.
"I'd just like to get a whack at them Germans," offered the boy,
and getting no response, trudged along again at his heels.
Suddenly it struck Clayton as rather strange that, in all the time
since his return from Europe, only four people had shown any but a
sort of academic interest in the war, and that, ironically enough,
a German had been the first to make a sacrifice for principle.
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