Tom Slade with the Colors | Page 7

way to shut it?
Well, all that was Roscoe's business, not his, thought Tom, as he settled down to go to sleep, and perhaps he had closed the door quietly because he wished not to disturb any one so late at night. That was very thoughtful of Roscoe....
But just the same Tom could not go to sleep, and he lay in bed thinking uneasily.
He had just about conquered his misgivings and had begun to think how suspicious and ungenerous he was, when another question occurred to him which had the effect of a knockout blow to his peace of mind.
Why had Roscoe Bent told Miss Ellison that it was better to be a live coward than a dead hero?
--Why, he had only been joking, of course, when he said that! It was one of those silly, careless things that he was always saying. Miss Ellison had not seemed to think it was very funny, but that had only made Roscoe laugh the more. "I'd rather kill time than kill Germans," he had said lightly. And Miss Ellison had said, "You're quite brave at killing time, aren't you?"
It was just joking and jollying, thought Tom, as he turned over for the fourth or fifth time, and he wished that he could joke and jolly like that. He made up his mind that when Roscoe came upstairs in the morning he would ask him whether the Germans weren't cowards to murder innocent women and children, and whether he would really want to be like them. He believed he could say that much without a tremor, even in front of Miss Ellison.
He wished morning would come so that he could be sure that Roscoe ... so that he could say that when Roscoe came upstairs.
"I'll bet he'll be sleepy after being out so late," thought Tom.
CHAPTER IV
THE CUP OF JOY
Tom was to have the next day off for his patriotic activities, but he went to the Temple Camp office early in the morning to get the mail opened and attend to one or two routine duties.
He found Miss Ellison already at her desk, and she greeted him with a mysterious smile.
"I hear you're going to be one of the celebrities," she said, busying herself with her typewriter machine.
"One of the what?" said Tom.
"One of the leading figures of the day. I don't suppose you'll even look at poor me to-morrow.--I was down in the bank and Mr. Temple said to send you down as soon as you came in."
"Me?" stammered Tom.
"Yes, you."
For a few seconds Tom waited, not knowing what to say or do--especially with his feet.
"You didn't notice if Roscoe was down there, did you?" he finally ventured.
"I most certainly did not," answered Miss Ellison, smiling with that same mysterious smile, as she tidied up her desk. "I have something else to think of besides Mr. Roscoe Bent."
Tom shifted from one foot to the other. "I thought you--maybe--kind of--I thought you liked him," said he.
"Oh, did you?"
He had never been quite so close to Miss Ellison before, nor engaged in such familiar discourse with her. He hesitated, moving uneasily, then made a bold plunge.
"I think you can--I think a person--I think a feller can tell if a girl kind of likes a certain feller--sort of----"
"Indeed!" she laughed. "Well, then, perhaps you can tell if I like you--sort of."
This was too much for Tom. He wrestled for a moment with his embarrassment, but he was in for it now, and he was not going to back out.
"I'm too clumsy for girls," said he; "they always notice that."
"You seem to know all about them," said the girl; "suppose I should tell you that I never noticed any such thing.--A girl usually notices if a fellow is strong, though," she added.
"It was being a scout that made me strong."
"There are different ways of being strong," observed Miss Ellison, busying herself the while.
"I know what you mean," said Tom. "I got a good muscle."
She leaned back in her chair and looked at him frankly. "I didn't mean exactly that," she said. "I meant if you make up your mind to do a thing, you'll do it."
Again Tom waited, not knowing what to say. He felt strangely happy, yet very uncomfortable. At length, for lack of anything better to say, he observed:
"I guess you kinder like Roscoe, all right."
For answer she bent over her typewriter and began to make an erasure.
"Don't you?" he persisted, gaining courage.
"Do I have to tell you?" she asked, laughing merrily.
Tom lingered for a few moments. He wanted to stay longer. This little familiar chat was a bigger innovation in his life than the long trousers had been. His heart was pounding just as it had pounded when he first took the scout oath. Evidently the girl meant to leave early herself, and see