Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (278 page)

Benjamin
opened
a
book
of
boys'
stories,
"The
Boy
Scouts
in Bimini
Bay,"
and
began
to
read.
But
he
found
himself
thinking
persistently
about
the
war.
America
had
joined
the
Allied
cause
during the
preceding
month,
and
Benjamin
wanted
to
enlist,
but,
alas,
sixteen
was
the
minimum
age,
and
he
did
not
look
that
old.
His
true
age, which
was
fifty-seven,
would
have
disqualified
him,
anyway.

There
was
a
knock
at
his
door,
and
the
butler
appeared
with
a letter
bearing
a
large
official
legend
in
the
comer
and
addressed
to Mr.
Benjamin
Button.
Benjamin
tore
it
open
eagerly,
and
read
the enclosure
with
delight.
It
informed
him
that
many
reserve
officers who
had
served
in
the
Spanish-American
War
were
being
called
back into
service
with
a
higher
rank,
and
it
enclosed
his
commission
as brigadier-general
in
the
United
States
Army
with
orders
to
report immediately.

Benjamin
jumped
to
his
feet
fairly
quivering
with
enthusiasm.
This was
what
he
had
wanted.
He
seized
his
cap
and
ten
minutes
later
he had
entered
a
large
tailoring
establishment
on
Charles
Street,
and asked
in
his
uncertain
treble
to
be
measured
for
a
uniform.

"Want
to
play
soldier,
sonny?"
demanded
a
clerk,
casually.

Benjamin
flushed.
"Say!
Never
mind
what
I
want!"
he
retorted angrily.
"My
name's
Button
and
I
live
on
Mt.
Vemon
Place,
so
you know
I'm
good
for
it."

"Well,"
admitted
the
clerk,
hesitatingly,
"if
you're
not,
I
guess
your daddy
is,
all
right."

Benjamin
was
measured,
and
a
week
later
his
uniform
was
completed.
He
had
difficulty
in
obtaining
the
proper
general's
insignia because
the
dealer
kept
insisting
to
Benjamin
that
a
nice
Y.
W.
C.
A. badge
would
look
just
as
well
and
be
much
more
fun
to
play
with.

Saying
nothing
to
Roscoe,
he
left
the
house
one
night
and
proceeded
by
train
to
Camp
Mosby,
in
South
Carolina,
where
he
was to
command
an
infantry
brigade.
On
a
sultry
April
day
he
approached the
entrance
to
the
camp,
paid
off
the
taxicab
which
had
brought him
from
the
station,
and
turned
to
the
sentry
on
guard:

"Get
someone
to
handle
my
luggage!"
he
said
briskly.

The
sentry
eyed
him
reproachfully.
"Say,"
he
remarked,
"where
you goin'
with
the
general's
duds,
sonny?"

Benjamin,
veteran
of
the
Spanish-American
War,
whirled
upon him
with
fire
in
his
eye,
but
with,
alas,
a
changing
treble
voice.

"Come
to
attention!"
he
tried
to
thunder;
he
paused
for
breath— then
suddenly
he
saw
the
sentry
snap
his
heels
together
and
bring
his rifle
to
the
present.
Benjamin
concealed
a
smile
of
gratification,
but when
he
glanced
around,
his
smile
faded.
It
was
not
he
who
had inspired
obedience,
but
an
imposing
artillery
colonel
who
was
approaching
on
horseback.