'"If possible, have your feet clean and dry. Smear your feet all over and especially between your toes with cold cream. Or Vaseline, carbolated is best. Use lots, a thick layer. Then put on socks-clean if possible, dirty if you must, but don't skip them-and put your boots on. When you first stand up, it feels as if you'd stepped into a barrel of soft soap. But your feet Will thank you for it and you won't get jungle rot between your toes. Or not as much. Take care of your feet, Ted, and keep your bowels open."

"Father."

"Daughter, I'm talking to a soldier-telling him things that may save his life: If the children can't hear such things, send them up to bed."

"I think it is time," Maureen answered, "to get the younger ones quieted down, at least."

"I don't have to go to bed!"

"Woodie, you do exactly what your mother tells you to and no back talk-or I'll bend a poker over your bottom. That's standing orders until your father gets home from the war."

"I'm going to stay up till Private Bronson leaves! Papa said I could."

"Mrrph. I'll discuss the logical impossibility of that with a club; it's the only way to make you understand it. Maureen, I suggest that we start with the youngest, let 'em say good-bye in turn, and then march straight up to bed. Which winds up in due course with me walking Ted to his streetcar stop."

"But I was going to drive Uncle Ted home!"

Lazarus judged that it was time to speak up. "Brian, thank you. But let's not give your mother something extra to worry about tonight. The trolley takes me almost straight home and from tomorrow on I won't even have streetcars; I'll walk."

"That's right," agreed Gramp. "He'll march. 'Hay foot, straw foot!-heads up and look proud!' Ted, his father made Brian Sergeant of the Guard until he gets back, charged with internal security of this household."

"Then he can't leave his post of duty to chauffeur a mere private, can he?"

"Not in the presence of the Officer of the Guard-me-and of the Officer of the Day, my daughter. Reminds me- While the young 'uns are kissing you good-bye, I want to dig out a couple of my old Army shirts; I think they'll fit you. If you don't mind hand-me-downs?"

"Sir, I will be proud and honored to wear them!"

Mrs. Smith stood up. "I have something I must get for Mr.-Private Bronson, too. Nancy, will you bring down Ethel? And Carol, will you fetch Richard?"

"But Private Bronson hasn't eaten his sandwich!"

Lazarus said, "I'm sorry, Miss Carol. I've been too excited to eat. Uh, would you wrap it for me? I'll eat it the minute I'm back in my apartment-and it will make me sleep soundly."

"Do that, Carol," decided her mother. "Brian, will you fetch down Richard?"

After more backing and filling Lazarus told them all goodbye, in reverse order of seniority. He held Ethel for a moment and grinned at her baby smile, then kissed the top of her head and handed her back to Nancy, who took her upstairs and hurried back down. To kiss Richard, Lazarus had to get down on one knee. The child seemed unsure why this was happening but knew that it was a solemn occasion; he hugged Lazarus tightly and smeared his cheek with a kiss.

Woodie then kissed him-for the first and only time, but Lazarus no longer felt bothered by touching "himself" as this little boy was not himself but simply an individual from whom he derived some scattered memories in an odd concatenation. He was no longer tempted to strangle him-or not often.

Woodie used the unaccustomed intimacy to whisper: "Those chessmen are really ivory?"

"Really truly ivory. Ivory and ebony, just like the keys on your Mama's piano."

"Gee, that's keen! Look, when you come back, Uncle Private Bronson, I'll let you play with them. Anytime."

"And I'll beat you, Sport."

"Says you! Well, so long. Don't take any wooden nickels." Little Marie kissed him with tears in her eyes, then fled from the room. George kissed him on the cheek and muttered, "You be careful, Uncle Ted," and left also. Brian Junior said, "I'll take real good care of your automobile-I'll keep it shined just the way you do," then hesitated-suddenly kissed his cheek and left, leading Richard.

Carol had his sandwich, neatly wrapped in waxed paper and tied with a ribbon. He thanked her and put it into an outer coat pocket. She placed her hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoes and whispered, "There's a note in it for you!"-kissed his cheek and left quickly.

Nancy took her place and said quietly, "The note is from both of us. We're going to pray for you every night when we pray for Papa." She glanced at her mother, then put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the mouth, a firm peck. "That's not good-bye but au revoir!" She left even more quickly than her sister, head high and moving like her mother.

Mrs. Smith stood up, said quietly, "Father?"-and waited.

"No."

"Then turn your back."

"Mmrph. Yes." Mr. Johnson studied the pictures on the wall.

With a soft rustle Mrs. Smith came close to Lazarus, looked tip at him, held up a little book. "This is for you."

It was a vest-pocket New Testament; she held it opened at the fly leaf. He took it and read the original inscription, somewhat faded:

"To Maureen Johnson, Good Friday 1892, for perfect attendance. Matthew vii 7"

And under this, in fresh and crisp Spencerian script:

To Private Theodore Bronson

Be true to self and country.

Maureen J. Smith

April 6, 1917

Lazarus gulped. "I will treasure it and keep it with me, Mrs. Smith."

"Not 'Mrs. Smith," Theodore- 'Maureen." She put up her arms.

Lazarus stuffed the little book into his breast pocket, put his arms around her, met her lips.

For a long moment her kiss was firm and warm but chaste. Then she moaned almost inaudibly, her body softened and -came strongly against him, her lips opened, and she kissed him in a fashion that Lazarus could barely believe even as he answered it in kind-a kiss that promised everything she could give.

After some uncounable eternity she whispered against his lips: "Theodore...take care of yourself. Come back to us."

DA CAPO-VI

Camp Funston, Kansas

Dear Twins and Family,

Surprise! Meet Corporal Ted Bronson, acting sergeant and the meanest drillmaster in the whole National Army of the United States. No, I have not scrambled my circuits. I temporarily lost track of a basic principle of evasive action, i.e., the best place to hide a needle is in a stack of needles and the best place to avoid the horrors of war is in an army. Since none of you has ever seen a war, or even an army, I must explain.

I had (foolishly) planned to avoid this war by running away to South America. But South America is a place where I could not possibly pass for a native, no matter how well I spoke the language-and it is loaded with German agents who would suspect me of being an American agent and might arrange some nasty accident for Ol' Buddy Boy, bless his innocent heart. And the girls there have beautiful flashing eyes, suspicious duennas, and fathers who love to shoot gringos up to no good.

Unhealthy.

But if I stayed in the United States and tried to stay out of the Army-one slip and I wind up behind cold stone walls, eating miserable food, and making little rocks out of big ones. Unappealing.

But in wartime the Army gets the best of everything- aside from a mild hazard of getting shot at. The latter can be avoided.