He put the letter in his pocket, thinking it would be better to mail it from New York. Then he went out and over to where young Archer was sitting.
"I've decided I'll go if you can get me a job," he said "and if you're sure I don't have to tell them I'm eighteen. Maybe you wouldn't call it being in the war exactly, but----"
"Sure you would," Archer interrupted, with great alacrity, "I'll tell you something I didn't tell you before, but you have to keep your mouth shut. We're going to be a transport pretty soon--as soon as the boys begin coming out of the camps. We'll be taking them over by the thousands around next November--you see!"
"Do you think they'll take me?" Tom asked.
To be sure, this assurance of a job was not on very high authority, but it was quite like Tom to place implicit confidence in what this engaging young stranger told him. His faith in people was unbounded.
He sat down on the carriage step beside Archer as if there were nothing extreme or unusual in his momentous decision, and with his usual air of indifference waited for the trolley car which would take them to the station at Catskill Landing.
"What d'you say we hit up a couple more apples?" said Archer.
"Will you have plenty left for Tommy Walters?" said Tom.
"Sure! I got enough to last him right through the danger zone."
For a few minutes they sat munching their apples in silence.
"There's two reasons," said Tom abruptly. "One is because I just got a letter that shows people think I'm a liar and break promises. The other is on account of what you told me about that little girl. If we take food and things over now and take soldiers over later, I guess that's helping, all right. Anyway, it's better than making badges. In another year I'll be eighteen, and then----"
"Here comes the car," said Archibald Archer.
The momentous step which Tom had resolved to take did not appear to agitate his stolid nature in the least. Nor did he give any sign of feeling disappointment or resentment. His whole simple faith was in young Archer now, and he trusted him implicitly.
He sat in the train, sometimes looking straight ahead and sometimes out at the beautiful Hudson where he had spent so many happy hours in the troop's cabin launch, the _Good Turn_.