"Yes; but why do you want the life of the uniform? That's what
I fail to understand? Why don't you go into something connected
with the pulsing everyday life of the country? Here you are,
going away to bury yourself in a uniform. You'll work, of course;
the Army is no place for loafers. But after all, you're only
preparing for war, and you may be an old, white-haired officer
before we have another war."
"If that war does come in your life time," returned Dick, "you'll
know what we of the uniforms have been working for all along.
You'll realize, then, that an Army's biggest work isn't fighting,
in time of war, but preparing in time of peace. And you'll thank
every one of us when the time comes."
"Oh, yes, I suppose so," smiled the editor. "But it all seems
so far away. Now, here is something much more practical right
at hand. Take these burglaries that have been annoying the small
merchants lately. The police don't seem to be able to catch the
fellow. For the last three days I've taken Len Spencer off of
all other work and set him to trying to run down the burglar.
Now, Len isn't afraid of much, and he's one of the brightest
young reporters going. Yet Len admits he's stumped. All the
while the merchants are fearing that the burglar will bring about
bigger losses. Dick Prescott, if you could catch that burglar,
and see him sent off where he belongs, you'd be doing a vastly
greater service to the community than you possibly could by helping
the country prepare for a war that is thirty or forty years away.
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