THE BEGINNING OF COMRADESHIP
"Did you see the way that officer grabbed those roses from under the
wheels?" demanded Jimmy excitedly, as he and Roger settled back in their
seats. The train had now left the shed behind and was steadily gathering
momentum. "Pretty clever in him, wasn't it?"
Roger nodded. "It showed that he was interested in us even if we are
just rookies. I wonder how long it will take us to look as well in our
uniforms as he does in his? What did you do with your Infantry Manual?
We ought to be studying up a little while we're on the way."
Roger referred to the little blue books he and Jimmy had purchased at a
department store soon after their enlistment. As he spoke he reached
into a pocket of his coat and drew his own forth.
"Mine's kicking around in my suitcase somewhere," grinned Jimmy rather
sheepishly. "I've been intending to study it, but I've had so many other
things to do. Put it back. Don't go to studying now. I want to talk to
you. Time enough for us to get busy when we hit Camp Sterling. Maybe I
didn't hate to leave Old Speedy behind, though. Next to the folks comes
Speedy and after that Buster, my brindle bull pup. That dog certainly
knew I was going away for keeps when I said good-bye to him. But he
won't be neglected. Buster has lots of friends. Everybody on our street
knows him. Next to me he likes Mother. She'll take good care of him. But
poor Old Speedy'll have a lonesome time shut up in the garage. It's such
a giddy-looking machine you couldn't hire the folks to ride half a block
in it. But you can't have everything, so what's the use of worrying?"
His active mind leaping from the subject of his car back to the officer
whose recent kindly act he had so sturdily commended, he continued
irrelevantly: "Say, an officer that would do a thing like that ought to
be good to his men. Don't you think so? I've heard a lot of stuff about
officers being regular cranks and jumping all over their men just for
spite. Do you suppose it's true?"
"No, I don't," Roger made emphatic return. "I don't believe that part of
it is much different in the Army from what it is in a shop or factory
or an office. Only, of course, there has to be stricter discipline in
the Army. I've worked in a good many different places and I've found out
that the way you're treated most always depends on the way you do your
work. Of course, wherever you go you're sure to meet some people you
won't like and who won't like you. If you mind your own business and let
'em alone, generally they'll let you alone."
"But suppose they don't? What then?"
"Well," Roger looked reflective, "I never had that happen to me but
once. It was when I worked in that shipping department. There was a boy
about my size or maybe a little bigger who wouldn't let me alone. He'd
make mistakes and then lay them to me. At last I got sick of it and gave
him a good licking. He let me alone after that. You couldn't do that
with an Army officer, though. You'd have to stand it and say nothing.
Anyway, I don't believe you'd find one officer in a thousand that
wouldn't treat you fairly. It's just as much to them to have the respect
of their men as it is to the men to have the good will of their
officers."
Unconsciously Roger had voiced the opinion that prevails from coast to
coast among both commissioned and non-commissioned officers in the
United States Service. The mistaken impression that those who have been
placed in commands in the National Army are a brow-beating, bullying
lot is fast passing. The Army officer of to-day respects himself too
much to abuse his authority. He also values the good will of his men too
greatly to abuse them. All this, however, the Khaki Boys were presently
to learn for themselves.
"I guess your head's level," conceded Jimmy. "I'm glad you licked that
shipping-room dub. I hate a _sneak_!"
The explosive utterance caused the heads of two young men in the seat in
front of their own to turn simultaneously in Jimmy's direction. One of
them, a dark, thin-faced lad with twinkling black eyes and a wide,
pleasant mouth, spoke. "Hope you didn't mean me," he offered
good-humoredly. The other, stockily-built, his pale, stolid features
bearing the unmistakable cast of the foreigner, stared at Jimmy out of
round, china-blue eyes, with the unblinking gaze of an owl.
"Course not," apologized Jimmy, reddening. "Why should I mean you?"
"I don't know, I'm sure." The smiling lips widened to a broad grin. "You
said it pretty loudly. It almost made me jump."
"Well, I meant it," maintained Jimmy stoutly, "but not for you. I meant
it for any fellow, though, who isn't square and above-board."
"Shake." The black-eyed youth half-raised himself in his seat and
offered Jimmy his hand. His companion continued to stare dumbly, as
though dazed by the suddenness of the whole thing.
"I saw you at the recruiting station the other day," observed Roger,
addressing the boy who had offered his hand. "You were just coming out
of the place as I was going in."
"I saw you, too," nodded the other. "That used to be my business; just
seeing people and things and writing 'em up afterward. I was a cub
reporter on the _Chronicle_. Then I got the enlisting habit and here I
am."
"Every morning I read him, that paper," announced a solemn voice. The
dumb had come into speech. "_You_ write him?" The questioning round blue
eyes looked awe upon his seatmate.
"Ha, ha! That's a good one," shouted the ex-reporter gleefully. "Say,
Oscar, what do you take me for?"
"That is no my name. It is Ignace; so. Ignace Pulinski," was the calm
correction. "I am one, a Pole."
"Well, 'Ignace So Pulinski, one, a Pole,' you've got another think
coming. I used to write about this much of the _Chronicle_. See." The
boyish news-gatherer indicated a space of about three inches between his
thumb and first finger.
"That is no much." Ignace relapsed into disappointed silence. Nor did he
offer a word when his energetic companions proposed turning their seat
so as to face Jimmy and Roger. He lumbered awkwardly to his feet and sat
stolidly down again as though moved by invisible strings.
"I was lucky to get that some days." Now seated opposite his new
acquaintances the reporter resumed the subject of his recent occupation.
Noting Roger's and Jimmy's patent amusement, their friendly _vis-a-vis_
winked roguishly at them and continued, "Well, no more of it for me.
What branch of the service did you fellows enlist in?"
"Infantry," came the concerted answer. "We thought we'd like to be sure
of a front place in the big fight."
"You'll get it," was the grim assurance. "This war's going to last long
after we've hit the trenches in France and done our bit. We're lucky to
be going to Sterling. It's one of the best camps in the country. It was
one of the first to be laid out. I was sent up there by my paper to get
a story about it when it was just starting. It was nothing but a lot of
cornfields then. I was up there again about three weeks ago and maybe
there wasn't a difference, though! Ground all cleared, company streets
laid out and barracks going up fast. It's a dandy place for a camp. Good
and dry with no swamps. There shouldn't be many men on sick list."
"How large is it?" inquired Roger interestedly.
"Covers about eight square miles, I should say; maybe a little more than
that. I hadn't thought of enlisting until after the second trip to it.
Then I just had to step in line. I wasn't going to hang back until the
draft got me, like a lot of fellows I know. I figured it out this way.
If I went into the Army and came out alive at the end of the war, I'd
have had all the fun and a barrel of experience. If I got to France and
then went West--that's what they call it when you cash in your
checks--I'd have a lot of fun anyhow while I lasted. I'd like to get a
whack at the Fritzies, so why lose a chance at it? Infantry for mine,
though, every time."
"I hope we are put in the same barrack." This new acquaintance was one
strictly after impetuous Jimmy's own heart.
"So do I." A flash of approval sprang to the young reporter's face. His
mental appraisal of Roger and Jimmy had been "all to the good."
"I go by you, an' you, an' you, mebbe, huh?" Ignace again came to life,
accompanying each "you" with a rigid pointing of a stubby forefinger.
"Mebbe, huh," agreed Jimmy solemnly. "Later on you might be sorry for
it, too. Didn't you ever hear about appearances being deceitful?"
A slow grin overspread the Pole's stolid face. "I take the chance," he
declared, thereby proving that he was not so stupid as he seemed.
"You're a real sport, Iggy." His seatmate playfully slapped him on the
shoulder. "I guess if you can stand us we can stand you."
"You are no ver' strong." Ignace was evidently more impressed by the
lack of force that had attended the light blow than by the compliment.
"My father ver' strong man," he added with a reminiscent frown.
"Well, I hadn't expected to knock your head off," conceded the other
satirically. "That was only a friendly tap." Struck by a sudden thought
he asked curiously, "How'd you happen to enlist, Iggy? Are you
twenty-one?"
"Y-e-a. Twenty-one an' two weeks. So"--the china-blue eyes took on a
defiant glint--"run 'way. My father, he no like this war. He say I no go
'cause no American. I say, 'go anyhow.' Better I think be solder an' get
kill once than my father most kill when he hit me much. I work by one
mill, but he get all moneys I make. This is no right, I say many time,
and always get the black eye or the bloody nose. So go quiet by place
an' say to man there, 'I can be the solder? I like fight for this
country.' Then I don't go home more. Stay by a frien' an' my father
don't know nothin' till too late."
Once started on a recital of his own troubles, Ignace had hardly stopped
for breath. There were no smiles on the faces of his listeners when he
had finished. The lack of excitement in his voice as he droned forth the
story of his own patriotic awakening and his final revolt, brought a
sympathetic gleam into three pairs of eyes.
"I guess it's time to shake with you, Iggy." Jimmy suited the action to
the word by grabbing the Polish boy's rough hand.
"Here, too," called out the reporter. "Let's all shake and tell our
right names. Mine's Robert Dalton. Either Bob or Dal'll do."
"Mine's Jimmy Blazes, James Blaise when we have company. This old
sobersides is Roger Barlow. He's got to have a shorter name than that,
though."
"Call him Ruddy and let it go at that," suggested Dalton. "I used to
know a fellow named Roger. We called him Ruddy or Rodge."
"Either'll suit me." Roger was secretly pleased with his new names.
"Ahem! We have with us this afternoon, Iggy and Jimmy and Bob and
Rodge." Dalton stood up, threw out his chest, thrusting his left hand
pompously inside his coat. "We're here because we're here. Gentlemen, on
us depends the safety of the great American commonwealth. Until we
entered this stupendous conflict, all was lost. But you can't lose us.
We're Four Dauntless Dubs Devoted to Daring Deeds. How's that?" Dalton
beamed patronizingly on the trio, then sat down.
"Not so bad. We're sure enough dubs when it comes to soldiering!" smiled
Roger. "I expect we'll feel we're less than that if we get into the
awkward squad for being slow for drill. I'm not going to stay in the dub
class, though." His boyish mouth set in determined lines. "I'm not going
to get into the awkward squad if I can possibly help it."
"Some ambitious rookie," teased Bob. "Well, it's a great life if you
don't weaken. I'm not saying where I'm going to land. Just so I land on
both feet every time. When I used to write in my copy book, 'Obedience
is the first and last duty of a soldier,' I never thought that it was
going to come home to me like this. That's the whole game in a nutshell,
though. Speak when you're spoken to, etc. Throw out your chest and look
happy when you get a call-down. 'Love your country and can up the
Fritzies before they can you,' is going to be my motto. How any husky
fellow with good red blood in his veins can read about what's going on
'Over There,' and never blink an eyelash, is more than I can see." Bob
had grown serious. "All I hope is that it won't be long until our turn
comes to go over. I might have enlisted a good while ago. Wish I had. I
haven't a relative in the world to worry over except an uncle who's a
pacifist, and I'm not worrying much about him. Too bad he's too old for
the draft. I'd like to hear him spouting peace to a line of charging
Boches. This is about the way he'd do it!"
Bob drew down his face, and proceeded to give an imitation of his
peace-loving relative that made even solemn Ignace laugh.
"It is good I come sit here," congratulated the Pole. "You are fonny,
but you have the kind heart. You make of me the fon, I no care. I no
make the fon of you. Somebody hit you. I hit him. I am the fren'."
"Much obliged, old man." Bob looked surprised and touched at this sudden
tribute of loyalty. "I can take care of myself, though. I'm strong, even
if you don't think so."
"I am no the old man," corrected Ignace with dignity. "Anyhow, I take
care you!"
"I certainly seem to be popular with some people," murmured Bob. "All
right, Iggy, you can go as far as you like. Maybe I do need a keeper. If
you and I land side by side in the same barrack we'll be bunkies, like
Jimmy and Roger. I know a good thing when I meet it."
"Brothers all!" Ignace raised a hand as though pronouncing a
benediction.
In the days to come the Polish boy's declamation was to be fulfilled to
the letter. From that chance meeting in the train was to spring a
comradeship between the four young men, all from such different walks in
life, that would do much toward helping them over the hard ruts in the
Glory Road.