"Oh! Not Tom?" Ruth Fielding looked up from the box she was packing for the local Red Cross chapter, and, almost horrified, gazed into the black eyes of the girl who confronted her. Helen Cameron's face was tragic in its expression. She had been crying. The closely written sheets of the letter in her hand were shaken, as were her shoulders, with the sobs she tried to suppress. "It-it's written to father," Helen said. "He gave it to me to read. I wish Tom had never gone to Harvard. Those boys there are completely crazy! To think-at the end of his freshman year-to throw it all up and go to a training camp!" "I guess Harvard isn't to blame," said Ruth practically. If she was deeply moved by what her 2 chum had told her, she quickly recovered her self-control. "The boys are going from other colleges all over the land. Is Tom going to try for a commission?" "Yes." "What does your father say?" "Why," cried the other girl as though that, too, had surprised and hurt her, "father cried 'Bully for Tom!' and then wiped his eyes on his handkerchief. What can men be made of, Ruth? He knows Tom may be killed, and yet he cheers for him."