Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (279 page)

"Colonel!"
called
Benjamin
shrilly.

The
colonel
came
up,
drew
rein,
and
looked
coolly
down
at
him with
a
twinkle
in
his
eyes.
"Whose
little
boy
are
you?"
he
demanded kindly.

"I'll
soon
dam
well
show
you
whose
little
boy
I
am!"
retorted
Benjamin
in
a
ferocious
voice.
"Get
down
off
that
horse!" The
colonel
roared
with
laughter. "You
want
him,
eh,
general?"

"Here!"
cried
Benjamin
desperately.
"Read
this."
And
he
thrust
his commission
toward
the
colonel.

The
colonel
read
it,
his
eyes
popping
from
their
sockets.

"Where'd
you
get
this?"
he
demanded,
slipping
the
document
into his
own
pocket.

"I
got
it
from
the
Government,
as
you'll
soon
find
out!"

"You
come
along
with
me,"
said
the
colonel
with
a
peculiar
look. "We'll
go
up
to
headquarters
and
talk
this
over.
Come
along."

The
colonel
turned
and
began
walking
his
horse
in
the
direction of
headquarters.
There
was
nothing
for
Benjamin
to
do
but
follow with
as
much
dignity
as
possible—meanwhile
promising
himself
a
stem
revenge.

But
this
revenge
did
not
materialize.
Two
days
later,
however,
his son
Roscoe
materialized
from
Baltimore,
hot
and
cross
from
a
hasty trip,
and
escorted
the
weeping
general,
sans
uniform,
back
to
his hofne.

1 1
§-k>

In
1920
Roscoe
Button's
first
child
was
bom.
During
the
attendant festivities,
however,
no
one
thought
it
"the
thing"
to
mention
that the
little
grubby
boy,
apparently
about
ten
years
of
age,
who
played around
the
house
with
lead
soldiers
and
a
miniature
circus
was
the new
baby's
own
grandfather.

No
one
disliked
the
little
boy
whose
fresh,
cheerful
face
was
crossed with
just
a
hint
of
sadness,
but
to
Roscoe
Button
his
presence
was
a source
of
torment.
In
the
idiom
of
his
generation,
Roscoe
did
not consider
the
matter
"efficient."
It
seemed
to
him
that
his
father,
in refusing
to
look
sixty,
had
not
behaved
like
a
"red-blooded
he-man" —this
was
Roscoe's
favorite
expression—but
in
a
curious
and
perverse manner.
Indeed,
to
think
about
the
matter
for
as
much
as
a
half
hour drove
him
to
the
edge
of
insanity.
Roscoe
believed
that
"live
wires" should
keep
young,
but
carrying
it
out
on
such
a
scale
was—was—was
inefficient.
And
there
Roscoe
rested.

Five
years
later
Roscoe's
little
boy
had
grown
old
enough
to
play childish
games
with
little
Benjamin
under
the
supervision
of
the
same nurse.
Roscoe
took
them
both
to
kindergarten
on
the
same
day
and Benjamin
found
that
playing
with
little
strips
of
colored
paper,
making mats
and
chains
and
curious
and
beautiful
designs,
was
the
most fascinating
game
in
the
world.
Once
he
was
bad
and
had
to
stand
in the
comer—then
he
cried—but
for
the
most
part
there
were
gay
hours in
the
cheerful
room,
with
the
sunlight
coming
in
the
windows
and Miss
Bailey's
kind
hand
resting
for
a
moment
now
and
then
in
his tousled
hair.