“At home, sir. I didn't think a chaplain would need one.”
“Whose violin in this?” asked the A. D. C. S. in his brusque manner.
“I rather think this is mine,” said one of the doctors.
“Will you sell it? I'll buy it from you, at any price you say. I want it for him.”
“You can't buy it, colonel,” said the doctor. “It's his now. I never knew it had all that heart stuff in it.”
He took up the violin, and handed it to Barry. But Barry drew back in astonishment. Then the old doctor came forward.
“No, Travis,” he said, “we'll do better than that. What did your fiddle cost?”
“Travis, this company of Americans, representing their country here in France, as a token of their sympathy with the allies and their sacred cause, and of gratitude to you, sir,” bowing to Barry, “will buy this instrument and present it to this young man, on condition that he repeat in similar circumstances the service he has rendered this afternoon. Am I right?” he asked, looking about him.
“You bet you are! Right you are!” said the doctors.
“Oh, doctor, you are a dear old thing!” exclaimed Paula.
Barry stood holding the instrument in his hand, unable to find his voice. The A. D. C. S. came to his aid.
“In the name of my chaplain, and in the name of thousands of Canadian soldiers to whom I promise you he will bring the blessing that he has brought us this afternoon, I thank you for this very beautiful and very characteristic American act.”
“Well,” said the old doctor, “I don't know how you folks feel, but I feel as if I had been to church.”
“Now, sir,” said the A. D. C. S. to Barry, in his military tone, “I am organising a company of musicians who will go through our camps and help the boys as you have helped us to-day. I would like you to be one of them. What do you say?”
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed Barry hastily, laying the violin upon the piano and standing back from it, “don't make that an order, sir. I want to stay with my men.”
His face was quivering with deep emotion. The A. D. C. S. looked into the quivering face.
“All right, Dunbar,” he said, with a little laugh, and putting his hand on Barry's shoulder. “I guess you are all right.”
“Some boy! What?” said the American doctor. “Here I think you had better take your fiddle along,” handing Barry the violin. “It doesn't belong to any one in this bunch.”