Short Fiction

said, “our intentions was to take you to St. Joe⁠—but we never got there ourselves. We were going through a burg called Sawyer when the rule was broken.”

“What rule?” I asked him.

“I had another puncture,” he said.

“I was afraid you would,” said I.

“Well, I did,” said Cross, “and it kind of upset the both of us; and to hear us light into each other, you’d of thought we’d been married a year. There wasn’t nothing to do but spend the night there. So I went to a kind of hotel, and she stayed with some old lady. The next day I got one of the tires fixed and drove back to Chi. She took our friend the Père Marquette.”

“I told you there might be trains on it,” said I.

“I didn’t go home for two nights,” said Cross, “and when I did, she wasn’t there. I found her at her folks’. I asked her to come home, but she said she wouldn’t come home till I sold the car. She said that only for it, we’d of gone all our life without a cross word, and she never wanted to see it again. Well, I agreed with her. So we fixed it all up.”

“And are you going to sell the Clubby Roadster?” I asked him.

“It’s sold already,” he said.

“What profit did you make?” said I.

“I took a two-hundred-dollar loss,” said Cross. “Then when I got the money, we were going to take a boat-trip and spend some of it. And then we got to thinking it over and decided it’d be a nice thing to invest the whole roll in Liberty bonds. We felt like we ought to do something for the country.”

“That’s a fine spirit!” I said. “But I know how you could of done a whole lot more.”

“How?” he asked me.

“You could of crated up the Clubby Roadster,” said I, “and sent it to the Kaiser with your fondest regards, and told him to be sure and take von Hindenburg and the Crown Prince and Mr. Ludendorff on a weekend trip, say to St. Joe or somewheres.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” said Cross. “Besides, they might of been like Nan and I and loved each other all the more for having a little misunderstanding. I never really appreciated my wife till we quarreled. Now⁠—”

“Shut up!” said I.

A Chip of the Old Block

Weedsburg, May 16.

Dear Grandfather:

How can I thank you for remembering me on my twenty-first birthday with such a wonderful present? I know how you feel about spending money recklessly, and I assure you I will not throw it away on foolish luxuries. In fact, I have about made up my mind not to spend it at all, but to deposit the check in the savings bank and not draw it out until actually necessary. Perhaps I will keep it until the next Liberty Loan is announced and buy a Liberty Bond with it, because I think a person ought to do all they can for the Government at a time like this. Thanks ever so much, dear Grandfather, and I wish there was some way in which I might show my appreciation otherwise than mere words.

I suppose you are like all the rest of us and crazy to get the papers every day and find out the latest about what is going on “over there.” The news has been rather discouraging lately, don’t you think? But Mother and I both think things will improve fast as soon as Gen. Pershing gets enough men so that he can begin to really do something. How splendidly the French and British have been fighting, and how glad they will be when we come to their rescue! But I guess the Kaiser won’t be so glad.

I have not made up my mind as yet just what to do. The other night I spoke to Mother about enlisting in the Navy, and just talking about it affected her so that I gave up the idea. Once a few weeks ago I mentioned the aviation, but she said it seemed such a terrible waste to go into that branch, as most of the aviators were accidentally killed before they ever got to do any fighting.

So, as I say, I don’t know exactly what to do, and there is no one here whom we can rely on to give me advice. Mr. Leslie, who was one of Father’s old friends and in the Spanish War with him, said yesterday that if he were I, he would not worry, but would wait until the next draft. But there are several reasons why I don’t like to do that. In the first place, there might be some other way in which I could serve my country to better advantage. Then it takes so long for a man to be called after he is drafted, and then he is kept in training for months before they send him anywhere. Besides, I suppose the men in charge of the drafting make mistakes the same as everybody else, and I might be overlooked entirely or left out in some way, and then it might be too late for me to do anything.

However, Mother is going to write soon to Congressman Shultz and see if he can give us any advice. I must do something to keep up the family record and following the footsteps of you and poor Dad, and I only wish it was the Germans who had killed Dad instead of the Spaniards so I could avenge his death or at least try to.

Well, Grandfather, thanks again for the check, and I know how you hate to write, so I won’t expect an answer to this letter, but we will let you know the news as soon as there is any.

Your affectionate grandson,
Evan.

P.S. I looked up in the back of the dictionary one time to see what my name meant, and it means