They drew John aside:
"Scott," said Carstairs, "are you really going? It's certain death, you
know."
"A German bullet or a German rope," said Wharton, "and you'll never be
seen or heard of again. It's an ignominious end."
"As surely as the night comes I'm going," replied John to both
questions. "I understand the risks and I take them."
"I knew the answer before I asked you," said Carstairs. "You Americans
are really our children, though sometimes you're not very respectful to
your parents. They call us prosaic, but I think we're really the most
romantic of the races."
"It's proved," said Wharton, "when sober fellows like Scott go away on
such errands. I think you'll win through, Scott, in the way you wish."
John knew that the good wishes of these two friends, so undemonstrative
and so true, would follow him all the time and he choked a little. But
when the lump in his throat was gone he spoke casually, as if he were
not venturing into a region that was sown thick and deep with dragon's
teeth.
At the advice of Captain Colton he slept several hours more that
afternoon, and in the darkest part of the night, clothed simply like a
peasant, but carrying a passport that would take him through the French
lines, he said good-by to his friends, and, taking his life in his
hands, departed upon his mission.
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