IN THE CAMP
Bob, surprised as much by the suddenness of the other’s action as
by the violence of the blow, staggered back, his hands going to his
bruised face. There was a moment of silence, and then Jerry, who had
seen the whole occurrence, cried out in ringing tones:
“Here, fellow, don’t you hit him again!”
“Who says so?” demanded “Pug” Kennedy, as he called himself. “If you’re
looking for trouble come down and get yours!” and he stepped out into
the aisle and struck a characteristic pugilistic attitude.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” said Jerry calmly; “but I like fair
play, and I’m going to see that my friend gets it.”
“Oh, you’re going to butt in, are you?” sneered the other.
“No, I’m not in the habit of doing that,” said Jerry. “But what did you
strike Bob for?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, yes, it is our business, too,” said Ned, walking up beside Jerry.
Bob’s nose had begun to bleed and he was holding his handkerchief to
it. He seemed dazed, and acted as though he did not know how to account
for what had occurred.
“What happened, Bob?” asked Jerry, as Ned walked up to the
heavily-built lad.
“Why, I was looking for my bag of crullers, and I saw them in his
pocket and----”
“You did not!” burst out Pug Kennedy. “That’s my own grub that I bought
in the station, and if you want to fight for it----”
“What are you always talking about fighting for?” asked Ned suddenly,
as he put out his hand and swung the bully around sharply. “I guess you
aren’t the only one who can do that.”
“Keep your hands off me!” roared Pug Kennedy. “If you’re looking for
trouble----”
“I generally find what I’m looking for,” said Ned softly, and he did
not give back an inch as Kennedy took a quick step forward.
Then, with a quickness that showed he understood considerable about the
pugilistic ring, Kennedy made a sudden shift, and his fist shot out
toward Ned. But the latter was just as quick, and, dodging the blow, he
put out his hand in a stiff arm movement and pushed Kennedy back into
his seat. The bully fell heavily. He tried to get up.
“No you don’t! Just sit there awhile!” cried Ned, and he plumped
himself down on the struggling one, holding him in place.
Seeing how matters were going, the others who had crowded up drew back
as well as they could in the aisle of the swaying car, to give room to
the struggling ones. If there was to be a fight it was no more than
right that it should be a fair one.
“Let me up!” spluttered Pug Kennedy.
“Not until I get ready,” answered Ned coolly.
He could afford to be cool. For he had dodged what Pug had thought was
going to be a “knockout blow” in such a clever way that the bully was
disconcerted, and now Kennedy was held down in such a position that he
could not use his strength to advantage.
But he was strong, Ned had to admit that. Only because of the fact that
he had the larger boy at a disadvantage, sitting on him, so to speak,
and holding him down by bracing his legs against the opposite seat, was
Ned able to keep himself where he was, for Pug struggled hard.
“Just stay there until you cool off a bit,” advised Ned, “and until you
learn not to hit out so with your fists. If you want to fight, we’ll
find some one your size and weight in our crowd to take you on. How
about it, Jerry?”
“I’ll agree if he will,” was the answer, and the tall lad grinned
cheerfully.
“Who said I wanted to fight?” growled Pug Kennedy, as he saw several
unfriendly looks cast in his direction, and noted the athletic build of
Jerry Hopkins.
“Well, you sort of acted that way,” commented Ned, who did not intend
to give the bully the slightest advantage. “What did you want to hit
Bob for?” and he nodded at his chum, who had finally succeeded in
stopping his nose hemorrhage.
“What’d he want to go and shove his hands into my pocket for, without
asking me if he could?” demanded Pug, and it must be admitted that
he really had right on his side. Bob had acted hastily, and perhaps
indiscreetly, considering that he did not know the lad who had had the
encounter with him.
“I was only looking for my crullers,” Bob explained. “Some one took ’em
for a joke, and when I saw the bag in your pocket I thought you had
’em.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” growled Pug, who, in truth, looked
something like the animal from which had come the nickname.
“You didn’t give me a chance,” said Bob. “If you wanted to fight why
didn’t you say so?”
“Well, you mind your own business, and let me alone!” growled the
belligerent one. “And you’d better let me up if you know what’s good
for you!” he added fiercely to Ned.
“Oh, I guess I know my business,” was the calm rejoinder. “At the same
time I’m willing to let you up provided you promise to keep your hands
off my friend. If you want to fight, as I said, that can be arranged.”
“I won’t promise anything!” growled Pug.
“Then you’ll sit there until you do,” observed Ned. There is no telling
how long this deadlock might have kept up, but at this point Sergeant
Mandell, who had been in the smoking car, came back to see how his
recruits were getting on. He took in the scene at a glance.
“Let him up, Slade,” he ordered Ned. “And you, Kennedy, keep quiet.
Remember you’re soldiers now, and you must obey your superiors. For the
time being I am your officer, though I want to be your friend, too. Now
what’s the row?”
It was explained in various ways, but all agreed that Kennedy had
struck first, and with little provocation, for Bob’s action, though
thoughtless, poking his hands into the pockets of another lad, had been
innocent enough.
“You had no right to hit him for that,” declared the sergeant. “But
I am not saying that Baker did exactly right, either. Though it was
natural for him to want his crullers.”
With mutterings and growls, Pug Kennedy shook himself after Ned let him
up, and slunk into his seat, away from the others. Ned, Bob, and Jerry
went back to their places, and quiet was once more restored.
“Bob, old man, I’m sorry,” said Ned. “It was my fault. I did take your
crullers, but I haven’t ’em now. I passed ’em down the line as a joke.
I’ll see if I can get ’em back.”
“Let ’em go, I don’t want ’em,” growled Bob.
It was perhaps a good thing he did not want them, since the crullers
had been eaten. When Ned learned that he offered to buy some more at
the next lunch counter.
But there was no time for this, as Sergeant Mandell said they would
soon reach Yorktown, where they would be quartered until they could be
more carefully examined and a decision arrived at as to where to send
them for preliminary training.
As the motor boys, with their old and new friends, were gathering up
their luggage, preparatory to getting off the train when it should stop
in Yorktown, a lad slipped up to Ned.
“You want to look out for that fellow,” he said in a low voice.
“What fellow?”
“That Pug Kennedy. The one you sat on.”
“Why?”
“Oh, he’s a scrapper and always looking for a fight. He comes from the
same town I do, and he’s licked every boy in it, some bigger than he
is, too.”
“Thanks for telling me,” said Ned. “I’m not afraid of him. But, just
the same, it’s as well to be on the watch. He seems like a bully.”
“He is. He doesn’t mind fighting a fellow smaller than himself. I don’t
like him, but I’ve got to hand it to him--he is some scrapper! I hope
the army takes some of the mean wrinkles out of him.”
“The army is just the place to get it done,” observed Ned. “Thanks for
telling me. See you again some time.”
He looked over to note what Kennedy was doing, but the latter had left
the car. Ned, Bob, and Jerry, with their fellow recruits, were formed
into a squad, and, amid the friendly looks of a crowd that gathered at
the station, they marched to the barracks, which were not far away.
“So Pug Kennedy is a scrapper, is he?” observed Jerry, when Ned told
him the result of the talk with the other boy. “Well, it’s as well to
know that first as last. I hope he isn’t sent to our camp. But, if he
is, we’ll have to make the best of it.”
It was noted that “Pug” answered to the title of Michael, and it was
assumed that “Pug” had been the characterization given him because of
his fancied resemblance to a dog of that breed--a resemblance more
real, in certain ways, than fancied.
In the following days the recruits were measured, weighed, tested in
various ways, and finally were all sworn in as privates in the United
States army that was eventually to fight, in France or elsewhere, the
troops of the Central Powers.
To Bob’s distress he was held up by one doctor, as being overweight,
and was close to being rejected. But his chums took him in hand, and
for a day starved him on a most reduced diet, and made him take so much
exercise that Bob lost about five pounds, and passed.
“But it was a close call,” said Jerry, when all was safe. “Don’t go to
stuffing yourself with pie or crullers until after you’re in the camp.
Then they won’t put you out, I dare say.”
“I’ll be careful,” promised Bob, now quite anxious.
And, three days later, the motor boys, with a number of their friends
from Cresville, and with others whom they did not know, including the
unpleasant Pug Kennedy, were sent to Camp Dixton, there to be given a
thorough training for their new life in the army.