MOBILE DIGITAL LIBRARY - SOCIETY OF YOUNG NIGERIAN ...

over me in his young magnificence.It flashed to me that I'd never seen him look so like his father, yet so different. All JohnDonaldson's physical beauty, all his charm were repeated in his son, but underlaid with amanliness, a force which poor John never had."We were pitched into the offensive in the hottest of it," spoke the boy. "It was thick. Wewere hampered by lack of workers. We wanted Americans. Morgan had a thought."'Italy's full of Americans,' he suggested. 'Living here. Over military age, but fit for a lotof our use. I miss my guess if bunches of 'em wouldn't jump at a chance to get busy undertheir own flag.'"We sent out a call and they came. Down from hill-towns, out of cities, from villageswe'd never heard of—it was amazing how they came. We didn't dream there was such anumber. Every one middle-aged, American all, and gentlemen all. One morning, afterbrisk work the night before, I'd just turned out and was standing by my bus—I slept on astretcher inside—I saw a big, athletic, grizzled chap, maybe fifty-five or over, shabby asto clothes, yet with an air like a duke, sauntering up. How he got in there I never thoughtto ask. He held out his hand as if we were old friends. 'Good morning,' he said. 'I hope Ididn't wake you up. How do you like Italy?' There was something attractive about him,something suggestive of a gracious host whose flower garden was Italy—which he