Death had ceased to be a matter of
personal concern. He had seen so many dead and wounded men as he had
ridden over battlefields he had come to take them as a matter of course.
He was going into action now for the first time in the ranks as a
private soldier and he would see things happen at closer range--that was
all. He wished to see them that way. He had reached the point of utter
indifference to personal danger and it brought a new consciousness of
strength that was inspiring. He had stopped dreaming of the happiness of
love after the exhibition he had made of himself before Betty Winter and
the brutal insult with which he met her advances. Some girls might
forgive it, but not this proud, sensitive, high strung daughter of the
snows of New England and the sunlight of France. And so he had
resolutely put the thought out of his heart.
Julius had proven himself a valuable servant. He was the best cook in
the regiment, and what was still more important, he was the most
skillful thief and the most plausible liar in the army. He could defend
himself so nobly from the insinuations of the suspicious that they would
apologize for the wrong unwittingly done his character. John had not
lived so well since he could remember.
"Julius, you're a handy man in war!" he exclaimed after a hearty supper
on fried chicken.
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