THE MARNE
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back," he continued, his voice weakening a little under the strain of Troy's visible inattention, "we'll see. . . ."
"See what?"
"Well—I don't know . . . a camp . . . till it's time for Harvard. . . ."
"I want to go to France at once, father," said Troy, with the voice of a man.
"To do what?" wailed his mother.
"Oh, any old thing—drive an ambulance," Troy struck out at random.
"But, dearest," she protested, "you could never even learn to drive a Ford runabout!"
"That's only because it never interested me."
"But one of those huge ambulances—you'll be killed!"
"Father!" exclaimed Troy, in a tone that seemed to say: "Aren't we out of the nursery, at least?"
"Don't talk to him like that,
