"LONG" GREEN AND KELLY HAVE INNINGS
"Ugh! That's a beastly trick. No white man would ever do a thing like
that!"
The speaker was Private William Green, also known as "Long" Green, from
his former habit of carrying large sums of ready cash about him.
Our readers will remember William. He was a good soldier, but above all
he was a good Army business man, for he saved his money and added to it.
To William Green the men of B Company always went when they were "short"
and craved spending money. To any man in B Company "Long" Green would
lend five dollars, but he always exacted six in return on pay day.
"What's wrong with your nerves, Green?" inquired Sergeant Hal, stepping
out on to the porch of the barracks.
"Slosson has been telling me about kantab," replied Green, with a
grimace and a shudder.
"Never heard of him," replied Hal.
"It isn't a 'him' at all, Sarge," rejoined Green. "Kantab is the name of
a poison that the Moros extract from one of their plants up in the
hills."
"Well, cheer up," urged Sergeant Overton, seating himself and opening a
book. "There are no poisons issued in the rations."
"But Slosson was telling me about two soldiers who got kantab in their
rations a few years ago," insisted Green.
"Was the quartermaster court-martialed?" asked Sergeant Overton. "Or was
it the fault of the company cook?"
"Nothing like it," replied Green. "Two soldiers were on outpost one
morning, and they had just prepared their breakfast. Just then they
thought they heard a sound in the bushes, so they caught up their rifles
and went out to investigate. They found nothing, so they came back to
their breakfasts. They thought their coffee tasted rather bitter, but
they drank it just the same. Ten minutes later both men were dying in
agony. That noise had been a ruse to draw them off, while some native
slipped in and put the kantab in their coffee. Ugh! That's a cowardly
way to fight. If I find anything bitter about my food, even here in
barracks, I'm going to toss the grub out. No kantab for mine," wound up
"Long" Green earnestly.
"Did that really happen, Slosson?" asked Sergeant Hal, glancing up from
his book.
"Sure," responded Private Slosson nonchalantly.
"I've heard about the stuff, too," nodded Private Kelly. "Only yesterday
I heard one native talking about it to another."
"I'm going to watch my chow (food) after this," insisted Green.
For twenty minutes Hal read on, paying no attention to the chatter of
soldiers about him. Then a bugle blew, and Hal closed his book with a
snap.
"That's sick call, Kelly, and I believe you're on sick report,"
announced the boyish sergeant.
"I'm not going," returned Kelly. "What's the use. The hospital steward,
I've been finding out, has no medicines whatever but salts and quinine.
I can't stand the taste of either."
"But you're going to sick call, just the same," Hal retorted dryly.
"Your name is on sick report, so to hospital you go. There's no way out
of it."
Sick call is sounded morning and afternoon. It is the first sergeant's
duty to enter on sick report the names of all enlisted men who report to
him that they are not well, or think they are not well. Then, when sick
call sounds, the first sergeant marches to hospital with the men whose
names he has entered on sick report.
"Fall in, Kelly," ordered the young sergeant.
"I'll not take salts or quinine," insisted Kelly.
"You'll march to sick call, just the same. Fall in!"
So in step, and briskly, Hal and Private Kelly marched over to the
little building which, at Fort Benjamin Franklin, was dignified with the
name of hospital. The acting hospital steward was there waiting for
them.
As this small command did not have a commissioned medical officer the
steward attended to all cases of minor illness. When occasion warranted
it the German physician was summoned from Bantoc to prescribe for the
men.
"The sick list, steward," reported Hal, handing over the official paper
on which Kelly's name alone appeared.
"What ails you, Kelly?" asked the steward.
"Nothing," Kelly answered defiantly.
"Then you'll have to discover an ailment soon," frowned the steward, "or
I'll ask Sergeant Overton to report you for shamming sick report."
"Why, truth to tell, I didn't feel very well," asserted Kelly. "But
that was two hours ago. I'm feeling fine now."
"Let me see your tongue," ordered the steward. He also "took" Kelly's
pulse and noted his respirations, entering all this information on his
record.
"Any pain anywhere, Kelly?"
"Sorra the bit," promptly rejoined the soldier.
"You're just a little off-key," went on the hospital steward, with a
professional air. "Not much; still, you'd better have some medicine."
"I can't take salts," protested Kelly. "They make me sea-sick. Give me
salts, and ye'll have to find a bed for me here, and take care of me for
a few days."
"Quinine is about your size," replied the steward, reaching for a
five-pound can of the stuff.
"That'll kill me, entirely!"
"Four ten-grain doses never killed any man," insisted the steward.
"I won't take it!"
"Oh, yes, you will, Kelly. This is the Army, and discipline is the rule.
I'll make sure of the first dose by seeing you take it here."
The hospital steward's tone was firm, and under the regulations he was
master of the situation.
"Then, for the love of Mike," gasped Kelly, "give me the bitter stuff in
a capsule."
"Certainly, if you like it that way, Kelly," assented the steward,
picking up a gelatine ten-grain capsule and packing it tight with the
white, bitter powder.
"I don't like it any way," growled Kelly.
"Now, that's nonsense, man. Why, all the medical authorities are agreed
that quinine is the greatest blessing to man ever discovered."
"Then why don't the doctors take more of it themselves?" scowled Private
Kelly.
"Here you are," continued the steward, capping the capsule and passing
it to the unwilling victim.
Kelly dropped the capsule into his mouth, resolving to hold it there
until he could get outside.
"Here's a glass of water. Wash it down," ordered the hospital steward.
"Then you can open your mouth and I'll make sure that you've swallowed
the stuff."
"Can't ye be after taking a soldier's word?" demanded Kelly, with a
burst of virtuous indignation.
"Not where quinine's the medicine," returned the steward, grinning.
"Now, down with the water, and then open your mouth."
There was no chance for sleight of hand here. Kelly actually swallowed
the hated stuff, then submitted the proof.
"Here are the other capsules," went on the steward, handing the victim a
small pill box. "Take one of the capsules at bed time and the other two
to-morrow morning and noon. Sergeant Overton, it will be as well for you
to see that Kelly obeys the order."
"May I go now?" demanded Kelly.
"Yes."
So sergeant and private passed out together.
"No wonder men sometimes desert," grumbled Private Kelly.
"Nonsense," laughed Hal. "Kelly, you're too good a soldier to be afraid
of just a bad taste in the mouth."
"I don't want a bitter taste in me mouth, unless an enemy is smart
enough to give it to me," grumbled Kelly, then added, "but by the
powers, that steward is an enemy of mine, and I'll have his scalp one of
these nights when I catch him outside on pass."
When Hal returned to the porch he picked up his book and disappeared
into the quieter squad room, for he had found it rather difficult to
study while among the others.
"Long" Green was making considerable noise, lying on his back on the
porch, rumbling snores issuing from his wide-open mouth.
"No man has a right to run a Gatling gun like that without a license,"
muttered Kelly, gazing thoughtfully down at the noisy sleeper. "Boys,
whist!"
There was mischief in the Irishman's eyes. Sergeant Hal, from the shadow
at the back of the squad room, heard and glanced out.
At a sign from Private Kelly, the other soldiers rose, fleeing softly
inside of barracks.
With an air as grave as that of a college professor absorbed in a
chemical experiment, Private Kelly drew the pill box from one of his
pockets. He took out a capsule, uncapped it, and bent over the sleeper.
Into "Long" Green's open mouth Kelly carefully but swiftly emptied the
contents of the capsule of quinine, then joined his comrades in the
barracks, all but closing the door.
After a moment Private William Green, asleep though he was, became dimly
conscious that something was wrong with his tongue.
Then he awoke. There was a hideously bitter taste in his mouth.
In another instant Private Green had turned ghastly pale, shaking like a
leaf. It took him but a moment to realize that he was alone on the
porch. Out on the road, some two hundred yards away, a solitary male
native was passing. Private Green was a quick guesser.
"_Kantab!_" he gasped hoarsely.
Then "Long" Green's legs got into swift action. Vaulting the porch rail,
and almost falling in his trembling weakness, William made a straight
line for the hospital, vanishing inside.
Five minutes later Hospital Steward Hicks appeared on the scene. He was
supporting "Long" by one arm, for the soldier was not yet over his
fright.
"Kelly," said Steward Hicks, "I find that I made a mistake. The medical
authorities do not prescribe the stuff I gave you in a case like yours.
So I'll take the capsules back."
"You're welcome," grinned Kelly, passing over the pill box.
"Two capsules; there should be three," remarked the hospital man, after
having raised the lid from the box. "Green, you idiot, the kantab you're
howling about came from the missing capsule that Kelly can't return to
me."
"Do you give kantab at the hospital, too?" gasped "Long," looking more
scared than ever.
"We do," said the steward grimly. "But we medical men call it quinine."
First "Long" looked bewildered. Then as the grinning soldiers gave vent
to howls of glee a great light began to dawn on the mind of Private
Green.
"Kelly, you scoundrel!" he yelled, leaping forward. "I'll take it all
back--out of you. On your feet, man!"
But Kelly, convulsed with laughter, sat back in his chair until the
irate Green slapped his face. At that the Irishman's resentment leaped
to the surface and Kelly followed his recent victim to the ground beyond
the porch.
Kelly, however, was weak with inward laughter. Green, therefore,
administered some rather severe punishment, and, in the end, sent Kelly
to the ground. "Long" couldn't possibly have done this under any other
circumstances.
Private Kelly sat there for two or three minutes. Then he got up slowly,
his face grave as he stepped to "Long," holding out his hand.
"'Long,' I know now what ailed me," confessed Private Kelly. "'Twas me
liver. Your tr-reatment has fixed it up fine. I'll call on ye for
another treatment when me liver needs it. By me present feelings I'm
thinking 'twill be about to-morrow morning, after guard-mount."