"I don't know him," answered Carley. "But I have a friend who was with
him in France."
The nurse led Carley into a long narrow room with a line of single beds
down each side, a stove at each end, and a few chairs. Each bed appeared
to have an occupant and those nearest Carley lay singularly quiet. At
the far end of the room were soldiers on crutches, wearing bandages
on their beads, carrying their arms in slings. Their merry voices
contrasted discordantly with their sad appearance.
Presently Carley stood beside a bed and looked down upon a gaunt,
haggard young man who lay propped up on pillows.
"Rust--a lady to see you," announced the nurse.
Carley had difficulty in introducing herself. Had Glenn ever looked
like this? What a face! It's healed scar only emphasized the pallor
and furrows of pain that assuredly came from present wounds. He had
unnaturally bright dark eyes, and a flush of fever in his hollow cheeks.
"How do!" he said, with a wan smile. "Who're you?"
"I'm Glenn Kilbourne's fiancee," she replied, holding out her hand.
"Say, I ought to've known you," he said, eagerly, and a warmth of light
changed the gray shade of his face. "You're the girl Carley! You're
almost like my--my own girl. By golly! You're some looker! It was good
of you to come. Tell me about Glenn."
Carley took the chair brought by the nurse, and pulling it close to the
bed, she smiled down upon him and said: "I'll be glad to tell you all I
know--presently. But first you tell me about yourself. Are you in pain?
What is your trouble? You must let me do everything I can for you, and
these other men."
Carley spent a poignant and depth-stirring hour at the bedside of
Glenn's comrade. At last she learned from loyal lips the nature of Glenn
Kilbourne's service to his country. How Carley clasped to her sore
heart the praise of the man she loved--the simple proofs of his noble
disregard of self! Rust said little about his own service to country or
to comrade. But Carley saw enough in his face. He had been like Glenn.
By these two Carley grasped the compelling truth of the spirit and
sacrifice of the legion of boys who had upheld American traditions.
Their children and their children's children, as the years rolled by
into the future, would hold their heads higher and prouder. Some things
could never die in the hearts and the blood of a race. These boys, and
the girls who had the supreme glory of being loved by them, must be
the ones to revive the Americanism of their forefathers. Nature and God
would take care of the slackers, the cowards who cloaked their shame
with bland excuses of home service, of disability, and of dependence.