end.
'O Ruggsie!' shouted the Duke, 'I know a good civilian tailor!'
The remark brought on a quantity of local laughter, and Naughty did not
help matters much by starting, 'Keep the home fires burning.'
That evening the flank of Company Number 1 individually condoled with
Ruggs, who was trying to decipher how he could be so full of so many
different kinds of mistakes.
'He’s got the raspberry all right,' commented the Duke, before a large
group, including Ruggs.
The 'raspberry,' be it said, was the name applied to the Sword of
Damocles suspended by the Meter. When he called a failing candidate into
the orderly room and implied that a resignation would be in order, that
lost soul was known the company over as 'getting the raspberry,' or
'rasp.'
II
Just before taps, after life had become subdued through study, the small
red-headed form of Squirmy was observed making its way to the centre of
the long room. He was dressed in a black overcoat fished from the bottom
of a trunk. A white tie torn from a stricken sheet made a flaring bow at
his neck, and goggles and an old cap-cover served as headgear. He
carried in his hand a Webster’s Unabridged, which he placed on an old
box previously used for the same purpose.
'_St!_ The Exhorter of Squad 21!' came in whispers from a dozen throats;
and the room became still.
Squirmy searched his half-dressed congregation witheringly over the tops
of his spectacles. Then from his small body proceeded slow tones of
thunder,--
'And the Lord said unto Moses, "Squads right!" (Dramatic pause.)
'But Moses--not being a military man--commanded, "Squads left!" (Longer
pause.)
'And great--was the confusion--among the candidites.
'Peace be with you,' he concluded, pointing an accusing finger at Ruggs;
and the company went to bed holding their abdomens.
After the last drill on Saturday Alice arrived with her machine,
chauffeur, and chaperone. When she spied Ruggs across the parade, with
twenty-two pounds of office flabbiness gone, his hardened muscles
holding his shoulders and neck erect underneath his khaki, an
unmistakable admiration filled her wide hazel eyes.
For a moment his gladness was unalloyed, and the disappointments of
crowded barracks and tangled drills faded utterly away. But as the day
wore on, the pleasure grew limp in the face of the bleak future. His
mind was repeatedly met with the question, 'Shall I tell her?' and he
always turned on himself with the reply, 'I am not yet through.'
The unacknowledged dullness between them finally drove them into the
distraction of a movie theatre. There, in the darkness, she caught
stealthy glimpses of his tightened jaw and distressed face.
'It’s going to be very hard on him; he’ll be so disappointed,' she said
to herself.
At the same time, while apparently following the antics of Mary
Pickford, he was thinking, 'It’s going to be so hard on her! She’ll be
so disappointed in me!'
When she had gone, and he found himself once more seated on his bunk in
desolation, he berated himself violently:--
'I must have treated her badly. This will not do. I’ve never given up
before. I’ve got to pull myself up to my best if it’s only a corporal’s
job. It’s better to be a _man_ than a higher-up anyway. Good God, I can
serve better by going where I’m put than where I want to _be put_! True
patriotism, after all, is filling the niche, whatever--'
'Say, Ruggsie,' burst in the Duke from the side door, 'big doin’s here
Monday. Big review for a Russian general. This company is goin' to be
divided into two--A and B companies.'
Ruggsie was silent.
'Don’t you care anything about it?' continued the Duke.
'I’m not interested in reviews--to be frank.'
'Say, old fellow, you don’t need to get so down because you tied up that
drill the other day. Course, there’s a great deal to know about this
military game. At first I was pretty green myself. May be in a second
camp you can get onto the stuff.'
Ruggs was not desirous of discussing the matter with the Duke, who,
having been given the natural opportunity, filled the gap with
conversation.
'You know the Meter called me and that Reserve Lieutenant Sullivan into
the orderly room and told us we were goin' to be in command of the two
companies. He went over with us just how we were goin' to do. He’s a
first-rate chap--the Meter is. First we line up along the road near the
gate, and then we march to the parade-ground and review. I know every
command I’m goin' to give right down in order--could say 'em off
backwards. That’s the way to know your drill.'
At supper the Duke leaned over the table toward Vance, a broker from
Wall Street who had spent the previous summer at Plattsburg, and
observed confidentially,--
'Do you know, Vance, I’d like to have you as my first lieutenant when
I’m a captain. You suit me O.K. I like the way you drill.'
Vance, immaculately neat and clean-shaven, acknowledged the remark with
a bow and went on eating. Mortimer, just out of Dartmouth, aged
twenty-two, gazed at the Duke with that deference with which Gareth
first looked upon Lancelot.
At three o’clock Monday afternoon the twenty companies of the training
camp were drawn up ready to display themselves to the Russian general.
Automobiles were parked thickly on the roadways, making a black, gray,
and brown banded circle around the parade-ground. Under the dense fringe
of trees, the many-colored gowns of the women edged the green like a
thick hedge of sweet peas. The heat and stillness had settled down over
the camp tensely.
The dignitary, eagerly awaited, was overdue. The Duke, as he wiped the
perspiration from his hat-band in front of the long column of companies
standing at ease, congratulated himself on the certainty with which he
would give the appropriate commands at various points before him on the
level stretch of grass. Conscious fingering of his pistol-holster
indicated his belief in the Meter’s choice.
A half-hour passed and the general had not arrived. All at once, the
band, contrary to plan, started to move diagonally across the
parade-ground. A mounted orderly popped out from a group of regular
officers and galloped straight toward the Duke.
'The major’s compliments,' he announced. 'The ceremony along the
road-side will be dispensed with. You are to march your company to the
line for review at once, sir.'
The field music struck up adjutant’s call, which was the signal for the
first company to form line.
'Squads left!' shouted the Duke in most military fashion.
It was the command that he had rehearsed to start the company from the
roadway to the ceremony proper--the opposite direction from the one
toward the spot where the line should now be formed.
'March!' he added, without seeing his error. And the company wheeled off
toward the woods away from the visitors, away from the band, away from
everybody.
'Damn me!' he muttered, looking back over his shoulder at the vanishing
goal. Then he roared, 'Column left! March!'
Again he had steered the head of the column in an opposite direction
from the one intended. B and C companies were now directly between his
objective and his organization, which was marching farther away with
every step. He realized that he had taken time enough to be well on the
way toward, instead of away from, the spot where the adjutant was
waiting for him.
'Squadsleftmarch!' he bellowed desperately.
The company, in the shape of an L, not having completed the turn in
column, now accordioned its flanks toward each other, intermingling
inextricably. The organization became at once a crowd of fellows with
rifles.
'Halt! Halt! Halt!' the Duke exploded; and immediately fell into
helpless bewilderment.
There was a dreadful pause, during which beads of perspiration dropped
from his face, making black spots on his starched clothing. His arm and
fingers twitched and he blinked horribly.
'What a steadying influence he’ll have on Vance!' whispered some one
near Ruggs, who, through compassion, was unable to feel mirthful.
The same orderly galloped up for the second time and delivered an
ultimatum from the major in no uncertain language. Several platoon
leaders sprang forward and succeeded in getting the company started in
the right direction. But the strain had weakened the Duke’s nerve to
such an extent that he was slow in dressing his company and failed to
give 'Eyes right' in time, when actually passing in review under the
scrutiny of the general himself.
And all this time the Meter had been hovering about, using his eyes
mightily and his mouth not at all.
Back in barracks when ranks were broken, there were no remarks made
openly on the leadership of the Duke. He had been a trusty drill-master
and, it was reported, had a 'stand-in' with the Meter. It was not
discreet to taunt him.
Indeed, it had been such a soakingly hot proceeding--the whole
review--that most of the men were glad enough to grasp what little
comfort they could without more ado. The extra marching beforehand had
not helped to cool them off, mentally or physically. Under the single
thin roof that separated them from the sun, the atmosphere, besides
being hot, was excessively oppressive. As soon as they could get rid of
their rifles, belts, and coats, they tossed them away in any direction.
Those who arrived inside first, and consequently had a chance for the
shower-bath, peeled off every soggy garment.
They were in this chaotic state of dishabille when a cry rose from the
first squad, 'Man the port-holes!' Immediately one hundred and sixty
male beings struggled for a view from the eastern windows.
'It’s the general--the whole party!' exclaimed one of the first.
'They’re coming in here,' volunteered another.
The crowd surged back and the voice of the acting first sergeant could
be heard in an effort to prepare the company for inspection. They hurled
their belongings into place with the speed and accuracy of postal
clerks. Two nude unfortunates were without ceremony ejected into the
cold world on the side of barracks farthest from the Russian advance.
History does not record what ever became of them. A bather clad only in
a scant towel and a scanter piece of soap, while making his entrance
from the shower where he had splashed in ignorance of the coming
invasion, was, to his amazement and resentment, forced suddenly into the
lavatory, where, he was given to understand, he must remain. Ruggs, most
incompletely dressed, coiled himself up underneath his cot behind two
lusty suitcases.
When the general came down the aisle, the candidates standing fully clad
at the foot of their bunks, at 'attention,' gave the impression of
having waited for him nonchalantly in that position ever since the
review. Mattress-covers were smoothed, bedding folded, clothing hung
neatly, and all evidence of hurry or confusion effaced.
But the Meter smiled a Mona Lisa smile as the door closed upon generals,
colonels, aides-de-camp, and himself.
'Rest,' shouted the acting first sergeant, and the company collapsed
into tumultuous laughter. Wet under-clothing, matches, and cigarettes,
were hauled from beneath mattresses, equipment from behind pillows, and
knick-knacks from yawning shoe-tops.
In the midst of all this turmoil one of the doors reopened and the Meter
stepped inside. Some one near him murmured a half-hearted 'Attention!'
and all who were within earshot arose--all except one. At that moment
Ruggs found himself halfway up from between the cots, his head and body
upright and his legs fast asleep under him.
'Mr. Ruggs, I seem to see more of you than I did a moment ago.'
If the Meter had returned for a purpose, all idea of it vanished now,
for he turned and disappeared, leaving Ruggs to bear his chagrin and to
blush down as far as his legs.
That night Squirmy took his text from the book of Currussians, and gave
a splendid and inspiriting talk on how Moses, although he had been found
by the King’s daughter in the bulrushes, had nothing on Ruggs, who was
discovered by the King himself among the valises. 'And be it said,'
concluded the exhorter, 'that both foundlings wore the same uniform.'
III
The first of August was close at hand. Rumors kept coming up like the
dawn 'on the road to Mandalay.' The 'makes' (those recommended for
commissions), it was said, had already had their names sent to
Washington. Before and after drills, members of the company were being
constantly summoned into the orderly room for interviews, the purport of
which was leaking out through the camp. A reserve captain had been given
his walking papers. Squirmy was to be a second lieutenant; Naughty, a
first lieutenant; and Vance, a captain.
The Duke had just been summoned. As he made his way up the aisle to the
front of barracks, hushed whispers ran around from circle to circle:
'Will he get a captaincy or just a lieutenancy out of it?' And many a
covetous eye followed his retreating figure.
At dinner he had not returned. In the afternoon and during the next day
his place in the squad was vacant. It began to be rumored that he had
been sent away on some special detail, perhaps to France.
In the evening Ruggs, having finished his supper early, was surprised to
find the Duke in civilian attire sitting on the cot he had occupied,
which was now divested of all its former accompaniments.
'Good-bye,' began the Duke, extending a cold hand rather ungraciously.
'Jus' turned in all my stuff.'
'Leaving?' queried Ruggs.
'Yep, got the rasp all right!'
There was an awkward pause, which was filled by the Duke’s interest in
the lock of his suitcase, after which he continued haltingly,--
'Meter called me in and told me no use to stay here--said my experience
was all right--but because I’d had so much, he expected more. Told me
any man that got fussed up and couldn’t get out of an easy hole without
help after six years' trainin' was no good for leadin' men. Said he
couldn’t trust men’s lives to me, and so he couldn’t give me a
commission. Gave me a lot of guff like that, with no sense to it. He’s a
hell of a man!'
'Do you mean to say you’re discharged--and that’s all?' Ruggs was
plainly astounded.
'You bet; that’s the end of the little Duke of Squad 15. Be good to
yourself. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, will you?'
Several men strolled back from supper. The Duke casting a furtive glance
in their direction as much as to say, 'I don’t care to meet any of them
any more,' added a 'So long,' and disappeared, suitcase in hand, through
the side door.
'What chance for me,' thought Ruggs, 'if the Duke gets the raspberry?'
That night he carefully smoothed out a civilian suit and placed it on a
hanger at the head of his cot. He also wrote several letters to business
friends at home. He did not write to Alice.
Excitement for the next few days was severe. Some were not eating their
meals, few were sleeping much, and all were stale. The physical training
had truly been intensive, but the mental strain had been breaking.
Friends greeted each other in a preoccupied way, and the nightly singing
had grown feeble.
As for Ruggs, he looked forward to the acceptance of his discharge with
as much grace as possible. He had striven honestly, and had apparently
made of himself only an object for laughter, but he was far from giving
up. Several candidates had confided to him their disappointment, as they
would have liked, they said, to see him gain a commission. Indeed they
had felt all along that he was going to make good.
Yet the day of his reckoning seemed never to materialize. Men went into
the orderly room, and came out with hectic smiles of relief or sickly
efforts at cheerfulness, while he watched and waited.
One day, after the first drill, Vance was sitting on his bunk talking
finances, when a voice from the other end of the barracks called out,--
'The following men report in the orderly room at once!'
The silence was crisp. Then the voice continued with a list of about ten
names, toward the end of which was Ruggs.
'Good-bye, Vance,' said he, rising. He put on his coat and brushed his
clothing and shoes carefully.
Vance eyed him narrowly and pityingly during the operation, as much as
to say, 'There’s no use taking any more pains with those clothes; you’ll
never need them again.'
Ruggs caught the look and understood.
'You see I can’t get out of the habit,' he confessed. 'It’s not so much
the clothes as--as--myself.'
At the orderly room door he waited a small eternity before his name was
called.
Once inside he found himself for the first time alone with the Meter.
Under his scrutiny heretofore Ruggs had felt himself to be merely number
one of the rear rank needful of correction. And yet the victim felt that
he could part from the captain with no feeling of resentment at the blow
he was about to receive.
'Mr. Ruggs!'
The Estimator of Destinies wheeled in his chair and cast a look of
brotherly frankness into Ruggs’s eyes.
'Yes, sir.'
'Mr. Ruggs, you’ve been here almost three months.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I haven’t time to mince matters with you. You have one great failing
which I’m going to dwell upon. You attempt to do too many things at
once. In the military service you are compelled to consider what is best
for the moment. Nothing changes so fast or furiously as a military
situation. Don’t forecast what you’ll do next so much as figure what
you’ll do _now_. Make your men be of the greatest use in the team right
_now_--understand? What you’d be liable to do would be a certain amount
of banking in the trenches. While you’d be speculating on how much
interest your venture would bring you to-morrow, a gas wave comes over
to-day and finds your men without masks. Be ready for the thing at
issue. You’ve got to take this matter in hand at once and overcome it.'
Ruggs acknowledged to himself that his difficulties were all too plainly
exposed. He had tried to compass the whole of drill regulations in a
single night. He had been so interested in what he was going to do to
the enemy after he reached the bluff, that he had forgotten to give the
proper signals to start the company on its mission. If only he had
understood the correct method of approach at the beginning!
'That,' went on the Meter, as if in continuation of Ruggs’s thoughts,
'has been your downfall.'
There was a knock at the door. In answer to the captain’s 'Come in,' a
thick official document was handed him.
'Be seated, Mr. Ruggs. Pardon me while I read this!'
It took some time for the perusal, during which Ruggs saw light in the
shape of a new plan.
'Captain,' he inquired, as the Meter looked up, 'is there any chance for
me to get into another camp or couldn’t you recommend me?'
'Second camp!' cried the Meter, staring at Ruggs as if the candidate
were bereft of reason. 'Second camp! You’ll get all the second camp
that’s coming to you. The whole purpose of this camp is to pick out the
proper wood-pulp--that’s all. None of you is capable of being an officer
now; but the men I’ve chosen, I hope have the makings. You yourself have
two assets: first, a knowledge of men, and second, the power to think
under stress. In another month you’ll be training rookies from the
draft. What I wanted to tell you was, you’d better look out for your
failing when you’re the first lieutenant, instead of the captain, of
that company of yours. Do you understand?'
Ruggs understood and managed to retire. Once outside, he leaned against
the building to steady his knees, and pressed his hands into his
pockets to keep his fingers from trembling.
'Sorry about it, old chap!' spoke up one of those waiting near the
entry.
Ruggs realized how the shock must have affected his features. The
incident gave him an idea.
When he had recovered sufficiently to go back to his bunk, Vance, in a
rather conventional and perfunctory tone, inquired about the outcome.
'Oh,' the dissembling Ruggs declared, 'the Meter said he’d let me stay
on till the end of camp for the training I’d get, if I wanted to.'
It was enough for Vance, and those standing about refrained from asking
embarrassing questions. For the next four days Ruggs was treated as one
who has just lost his entire family in a wreck. On the evening of the
fifth day, after supper, a reserve officer from headquarters appeared in
barracks with a list, the substance of which he said could be disclosed
to the public. When he had finished reading the first lieutenants every
eye glared at Ruggs; and when the list was completed there was a rush
for blankets and the victim. How many times Ruggs’s feet hit the
ceiling, he never quite remembered.
Later, Squirmy gave a very helpful talk on Joseph, who was sold by his
brothers down into Egypt after they had hidden him under a bushel. 'Ah!
gentlemen,' he exhorted, '_this_ time little Joey sold his brothers.
Little Joey Ruggs is going to have a coat of many colors and be ruler
over many!'
And again the fun turned on Ruggs, but he stole away and wired Alice.
THE WAY OF LIFE
BY LUCY HUFFAKER
THERE was a heavy odor in the little house which quite blighted the soft
spring air as it blew in through the half-open window. For supper there
had been onions and sausage, and the fried potatoes had burned. The
smells which had risen from the kitchen stove had mingled with the raw,
soapy fumes which gave testimony that Monday was wash-day in the Black
family. Now the smoking of the kerosene lamp on the centre-table seemed
to seal in hermetical fashion the oppressive room against the gentle
breeze of the May evening.
The woman, bending over a pair of trousers which she was patching, stuck
the needle in the cloth, pulled the thimble from her fat, red finger,
and rubbed her hands over her eyes.
'Bed-time, Billy,' she said to the nine-year-old boy who was playing
with a picture-puzzle on the other side of the table.
'Aw, ma, let me stay up, till pa and the boys get home.'
The woman shook her head.
'I’ll get up in plenty of time to feed the chickens, anyhow. Honest, I
will.'
'You ought to be glad to go to bed,' the mother sighed in answer. 'I’d
be. Seems to me I’d be tickled to death if I could drop into bed without
my supper any night.'
'I’ll go if you’ll go, too. I just hate to go to bed knowing all the
rest of you are up.'
'Me go to bed! Why these trousers of yours aren’t finished yet and I’ve
got to mend Tom’s shirt and your father’s coat, and then there’s the
bread to set. Much chance I have to go to bed for a couple of hours,
yet! Now you run along. If you go like a good boy, you can have a
cooky.'
She put the thimble on her finger and bent over her mending again. She
sewed steadily on until an hour later, when she heard the buggy drive
into the yard and one of the boys came running in to ask her if she knew
where the barn-lantern was. It was in the cellar, and there was barely
enough oil to make a dim light while the horse was being unharnessed.
The boys were sent to bed immediately, with an injunction to be quiet so
Billy would not be awakened. She heard the heavy tread of her husband in
the kitchen, as he hunted for the dipper to get a drink of water. Then
he came into the sitting-room, sat down in a chair, and began pulling
off his shoes. He groaned as he did it.
'Say, Em,' he said, 'guess who I saw in town to-night?'
'Who?' was the unimaginative response.
'You’d never guess in a hundred years. You’d never guess what she did,
either. She sent you these.'
He drew from his pocket a package and a sheet of notepaper. The woman
looked at them for a moment, but she didn’t touch them.
'Hurry up, Em,' said the man. 'They won’t bite you.'
'But what--' she faltered.
'The best way to find out about 'em is to open 'em.'
She opened the package first. It was a cheap colored print of St.
Cecilia at the Organ. It was in a bright gilt frame. Then she opened the
note. She read it through once, with a little frown puckering her
forehead. Then, more slowly, she read it the second time.
'Minnie Jackson!' she murmured. 'I haven’t seen her for nearly ten
years. I don’t know when I’ve thought about her, even. You read it,
Jake?'
'Yes. She didn’t seal it.' He waited a minute, then said, 'I couldn’t
just make out what it was all about. What day is this?'
'It’s our birthday--Minnie’s and mine. We used to call ourselves twins,
but she’s a year older than I am. I’ve been so busy all day I never
thought about it. What does Minnie look like?'