"I suppose that'd be plenty," agreed Anthony.
--In her letter that day Gloria had written: "I suppose if we _could_ settle for a million it would be better to tell Mr. Haight to go ahead and settle. But it'd seem a pity...."
... "We could have an automobile," exclaimed Dot, in a final burst of triumph.
AN IMPRESSIVE OCCASION
Captain Dunning prided himself on being a great reader of character. Half an hour after meeting a man he was accustomed to place him in one of a number of astonishing categories--fine man, good man, smart fellow, theorizer, poet, and "worthless." One day early in February he caused Anthony to be summoned to his presence in the orderly tent.
"Patch," he said sententiously, "I've had my eye on you for several weeks."
Anthony stood erect and motionless.
"And I think you've got the makings of a good soldier."
He waited for the warm glow, which this would naturally arouse, to cool--and then continued: "This is no child's play," he said, narrowing his brows.
Anthony agreed with a melancholy "No, sir."
"It's a man's game--and we need leaders." Then the climax, swift, sure, and electric: "Patch, I'm going to make you a corporal."
At this point Anthony should have staggered slightly backward, overwhelmed. He was to be one of the quarter million selected for that consummate trust. He was going to be able to shout the technical phrase, "Follow me!" to seven other frightened men.
"You seem to be a man of some education," said Captain Dunning.
"Yes, Sir."
"That's good, that's good. Education's a great thing, but don't let it go to your head. Keep on the way you're doing and you'll be a good soldier."
With these parting words lingering in his ears, Corporal Patch saluted, executed a right about face, and left the tent.
Though the conversation amused Anthony, it did generate the idea that life would be more amusing as a sergeant or, should he find a less exacting medical examiner, as an officer. He was little interested in the work, which seemed to belie the army's boasted gallantry. At the inspections one did not dress up to look well, one dressed up to keep from looking badly.
But as winter wore away--the short, snowless winter marked by damp nights and cool, rainy days--he marvelled at how quickly the system had grasped him. He was a soldier--all who were not soldiers were civilians. The world was divided primarily into those two classifications.