Forward, March | Page 6

know nothing of your
movements."

"All right, father," replied the young fellow. "I won't tell you a thing
about it, for I don't know where I am going any more than you do."
"Then good-bye, my boy, and may Almighty God restore you to us safe
and well when the war is over. Here is the money you asked for, and I
only wish I were able to give you ten times the sum. Be careful of it,
and don't spend it recklessly, for you must remember that we are poor
folk now."
Thus saying, the elder man slipped a roll of crisp bills into his son's
hand, kissed him on the cheek, a thing he had not done before in a
dozen years, and, without trusting his voice for another word, drove
rapidly away.
For a minute Ridge stood in the shadow of the massive building,
listening with a full heart to the rattle of departing wheels. Then he
stooped to pick up the hand-bag, which was all the luggage he
proposed to take with him. As he did so, two men brushed past him,
and he overheard one of them say:
"Yes, old Norris was bought cheap. A second-lieutenancy for his cub
fixed him. The berth'll soon be vacant again though, for the boy hasn't
sand enough to--"
Here the voice of the speaker was lost as the two turned into the
armory.
"Thanks for your opinion, Major Dodley," murmured Ridge; "that
cheap berth will be vacant sooner than you think."
Then, picking up his "grip," the young fellow walked rapidly away
towards the railway station. He was clad in a blue flannel shirt, brown
canvas coat, trousers, and leggings, and wore a brown felt hat, the
combination making up a costume almost identical with that decided
upon as a Cuban campaign uniform for the United States army. Ridge
had provided himself with it in order to save the carrying of useless
luggage. In his "grip" he had an extra shirt, two changes of
under-flannels, several pairs of socks, a pair of stout walking-shoes,

and a few toilet articles, all of which could easily be stowed in an army
haversack.
Our hero's vaguely formed plan, as he neared the station, was to take
the first east-bound train and make his way to one of the great camps of
mobilization, either at Chickamauga, Georgia, or Tampa, Florida,
where he hoped to find some regiment in which he could
conscientiously enlist. A train from the North had just reached the
station as he entered it; but, to his disgust, he found that several hours
must elapse before one would be ready to bear him eastward.
He was too excited to wait patiently, but wandered restlessly up and
down the long platform. All at once there came to his ears the sound of
a familiar voice, and, turning, he saw, advancing towards him, in the
full glare of an electric light, three men, all young and evidently in high
spirits. One, thin, brown, and wiry, was dressed as a cowboy of the
Western plains. Another, who was a giant in stature, wore a golf suit of
gray tweed; while the third, of boyish aspect, whom Ridge recognized
as the son of a well-known New York millionaire, was clad in brown
canvas much after his own style, though he also wore a prodigious
revolver and a belt full of cartridges.
He was Roland Van Kyp, called "Rollo" for short, one of the most
persistent and luxurious of globe-trotters, who generally travelled in his
own magnificent steam-yacht Royal Flush, on board of which he had
entertained princes and the cream of foreign nobility without number.
Everybody knew Van Kyp, and everybody liked him; he was such a
genial soul, ever ready to bother himself over some other fellow's
trouble, but never intimating that he had any of his own; reckless,
generous, happy-go-lucky, always getting into scrapes and out of them
with equal facility. To his more intimate friends he had been variously
known as "Rollo Abroad," "Rollo in Love," "Rollo in Search of a
Wife," or "Rollo at Play," and when Ridge became acquainted with him
in Yokohama he was "Rollo in Japan."
He now recognized our hero at a glance, and sprang forward with
outstretched hand.

"Hello, Norris, my dear boy!" he cried. "Whatever brings you here?
Thought you were still far away in the misty Orient, doing the grand
among the little brown Japs, while here you are in flannel and canvas as
though you were a major-general in the regular army. What does it
mean? Are you one of us? Have you too become a man of war, a
fire-eater, a target for Mausers? Have you enlisted under the banner of
the screaming eagle?"
"Not yet," laughed Ridge, "but I am on my