It was like the scene he had "pretended" out in the little barn when he had presented himself with the fancied signalling badge.
Stealthily his hand moved to his ticking shirt and removed the campaign button.

For there before him was a boy with a real, a _real_, signalling badge.

His eyes were riveted upon that badge; he could not take them from it.

Suppose someone should ask him about the button; why he was wearing it now that Harding and Coolidge were in office?
He would blush, he could not tell them.
He hoped that they would not notice him for he knew he could not talk to them, that his voice would shake and that he would go to pieces.

Now that he saw them, joyous, uproarious, bantering, wearing badges on their sleeves, he realized that what _he_ had done was nothing at all.