The patriot. [volume] (Indiana, Pa.) 1914-1955, 1919-05-31
AND DAD
BY C. 3. BROOKS.

John Morley threw down his paper,
He sat looking moodiIy through the
half-clOsed door, just catching
glimpse Of the knitters within-one
making a sweater, another a pair Of
socks, the third a helmet, all fer the
boys.
He took up his paper and reread the
paragraph that told what dad's bit in
the war consisted of-the one who
stayed at home caring for the younger
children, while mother goes to the Red
Gross rooms to work, and the money
he gave the girls to aid the sufferers
of the stricken countries, and after all
not one show Of appreciation or praise
does a father get. He was not sup
posed to cherish tender memories OF
his boy as a child and man.
Him" grunted Mr.. Morley, doesn't
a dad sacrifice his son and feel the
loss Of cOmpanionship? Doesn't he
share in the proud possession OF
soldier boy?
Now, John Morley was quite q fre-
quent visitor at the fire station, where
his friend, Tim Bourne, chief, was al
ways glad to welcome him. This eve
ming found Morley at his old retreat.
Even there he could not escape an
array Of sweaters and socks.
'How did you Iearn?" he asked.
MY daughter Grace showed u.s."
proudly admitted Bourne
Looks queer to see men knitting.
I've never noticed it so much before
fascinating by the looks" yielded Nor
ley.
"'Tis," lacOnicaIly agreed the chief,
struggling with a stitch half escaping
his clumsy fingers. "She-comes-
nearly every-evening," be added,
hesltatingly, so engrossed was he In
his struggle with the truant stitch.
Coming tonight?" asked Morley, his
voice half tremulOus from the most as
founding idea working in his brain.
'Ye-es" answered Bourne, trium~
phantly catching the stitch back ON the
needle.
1t was with hands trembling with
pride and fear that Morley took his
first lesson from pretty, gOod-natured
Grace Bourne. How the man worked
and perspired over the arduous task
'Im coming again. I won't give it
up. want to make sweater for my
boy Bile, over there" Morley cOnfd-
ed to his young teacher.
"Why, I'm making one for Will; so
we'll both be making a William sweat
er; how funny!" laughed the girl.
"YOur brOther?' asked Morley, mis-
chievOusly.
"N--nO-a friend" blushed Grace.
81 see," answered her pupil, staring
audaciOuslya at the ring sparkling on
the young teachers finger.
Late that night his opinion of athe
young teacher was set forth in glowing
terms In a letter to his son, Bill. The
letter ended with these words:
"---- and Bill, don't get eDtan-
gled in any love affairs over there, for
I have found a perfect sample Of
wife. Nc, you can't have this one. for
a sparkling ring tells me she is merit
gagged to another fellow. Remember,
1 said sample, so she's not for sale.
Remember my advice.
YOUR OLD DAD.''
There came an evening when Dad
entered the room a cOnquerOr, with
head held nigh. He opened q square
bundle, majestically, and held aloft a
sweater and a pair of socks.
Him. triumphed Dad; perhaps
dads are some use in this war;" and
he pointed to the articles.
"What-d0--you-m John" be
gan Mrs. Morley.
':Why, Dad Morley, you-yOu never
-" Blanche -gasped, then paused In
amazement.
''YeS 1 did DO you think fathers
are mere puppe&s; that they have no
patriotism? These are for Bill. Grace
Bourne showed me at the fire station"
Dad began rubbing his hands together.
'As if you had to go outside to
learn" .pOuted Ethel. why didn't yOn
ask US2"
Dad shook his head and then said,
jOkingly "A prophet in his own cOun-
try, you know"
1T is mot true here, you dear old
dad" anG Ethel Notwithstanding her
yarn -ensnarled feet, spcang to her IA
ther and hugged him tight.
Mrs. Morley quietly put paper into
her husbands hand.
Telegram Bills coming hOmeI"
Dads face fell q little.
Sorry, DadN' exclaimed Blanche.
"N-no; sort of disappointed about
the sweater and socks. That's
all. Bless the boy! I can't wait"
Perhaps he may need a sweater in
America" saucily suggested Ethel.
81 hope he won't rave about any girl
over there. for want to recommend
one like my ideal-Grace Bourne.
What are you laughing at7'
He turned to Ethel who was un-
snarling her ball of yarn. She sat
there gtggling.
mNoyv RiII ia coming I can tell tae