UNKNOWN, UNGUESSED
At noon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Roger, Jimmy and Bob said
a regretful good-bye to Ignace and sallied forth to the station bound
for a four days' furlough with the Blaises. Due to Jimmy's
thoughtfulness, Ignace had that very morning received a Thanksgiving box
of good things to eat from Mrs. Blaise that had astonished him almost to
tears. He had never before come into such a windfall, and his round blue
eyes grew rounder when after the departure of his bunkies he explored
the contents of this holiday treat.
His first thought was of someone with whom he might share it. Franz
Schnitzel appealed to him as most worthy of choice. Like himself,
Schnitzel never received either money or gifts from home.
Thanksgiving Day ended Ignace's detail in the mess kitchen. The day
following ended his period of punishment. On Saturday afternoon he and
Schnitzel obtained passes and went into Tremont for a quiet but happy
little celebration of their own. All in all, Ignace was not so lonely as
he had expected to be. Though he sorely missed his Brothers, he was
unselfishly glad of the good time they were having at Jimmy's home.
Evidence of that reached him on Saturday afternoon in the shape of post
cards from all three, which he lugged happily about in a coat pocket for
a week after their return.
Detail of Schnitzel to kitchen duty on Sunday morning robbed Ignace of
his company at breakfast. During the absence of his bunkies, Ignace and
the German-American had daily sat side by side at mess, saying little
but nevertheless well content in each other's society. They were
becoming very good friends.
Sunday noon landed Bob, Jimmy and Roger in barracks with a rush. They
pounced upon Ignace with good-humored roughness and plied him with
endless questions about himself and his doings during their absence.
"Now for the love of Mike, Iggy, do behave like a little tin soldier
until Christmas," admonished Bob. "Jimmy's folks want us with them for
the Christmas furlough. That means you. If you happen to see anybody
trying to slay us all in a bunch, let 'em try, but you keep out of the
slaying. You've done your stretch. Be satisfied. Let somebody else get
it in the neck for a change."
It was not until in the evening when the four Khaki Boys were leaving
the "Y," where they had spent an hour after mess, that Jimmy bethought
himself to ask Iggy, "Did Schnitzel have any trouble with Bixton while
we were gone? I heard before we left that Bixton was wild because he had
to stay in camp. I thought, maybe, he'd try to take it out on Schnitz."
"No. He no do nothin', no say nothin'. He have the big box to eat he get
by home. Himself eat, no give nothin'. All time smoke an' look mad.
Schnitzel no care. He stay by me. We are the frens."
"'Himself eat,'" mimicked Jimmy. "I wish he would, and not leave a
scrap!"
"You should worry. He's safe for a while. He won't risk any more run-ins
with the K. O. for fear of getting canned up for Christmas. Bottled
Bixton doesn't look good to him just now." Bob grinned at his own
fanciful labeling of the obstreperous Bixton.
"I guess he's about through as a trouble bird," observed Jimmy. "That
detail in the mess kitchen must have cured him. I'll bet he hated to go
to it."
"Never I like him that kitchen," sighed Ignace. "Schnitzel no mind. He
ver' good solder. Say--say---- What him say?" Wrestling with memory,
Ignace ended with a triumphant, "Him say, 'All the duty him a line'!"
"Oh, wow!" shouted Bob gleefully, slapping Iggy on the back. "That's a
funny one!"
"You have the grow stron'er," placidly remarked the misquoter, unruffled
by Bob's levity.
Taps that night left the Khaki Boys ready for a quick hike into
dreamland. The next day dawned like any one day at Camp Sterling, with a
concerted rush on the part of several thousand Sammies to get into their
uniforms and line up for roll call.
"With all due credit to our hard-plugging cooks, I'm not what you might
call a hearty eater," grumbled Bob to Roger, as the Khaki Boys of
Company E stood before the counter in the mess hall at noon. "Mrs.
Blaise's cook beats Mrs. Army's hash maidens all hollow."
"It _is_ a come down." Roger smiled at Bob's nonsense. "I'm not very
hungry, either. I've lost my appetite, I guess, from eating so much
sweet stuff. No more of it for me to-day or to-morrow either."
"Nor me." Having received his portion in his mess kit, Bob eyed it with
disfavor. "Beans," he commented. "I'll try 'em. This pale, simple, gooey
rice pudding---- No, thank you. Bobby has chok'lit candy and nice cake
in his suit-case. Go 'way, nasty old pudding!"
His scornful repudiation of the unoffending rice pudding was not the
only one. Neither Jimmy nor Roger were tempted to the point of trying
it. Ignace swallowed one small spoonful and with a disdainful, "No taste
nothin," ate no more of it. The glories of his wonderful Thanksgiving
treat were still hovering over him, hence his will to criticize everyday
fare.
Shortly after one o'clock Assembly something happened to the platoon of
Company E men of which the four Khaki Boys were a part. In the midst of
drill a soldier dropped his rifle, clapped both hands over his stomach
with a deep groan, and, doubling up like a jack-knife, pitched forward
to the ground, a writhing heap. Hardly had the lieutenant commanding the
platoon reached him when a second, then a third man collapsed in
precisely the same fashion.
In the next few moments the lieutenant fully demonstrated his prompt
ability to act in the face of an emergency. Taking instant command of
the situation, he rapped out his orders with crispness and dispatch.
Before aid had arrived, however, from the nearby base hospital, at least
a dozen more men were showing signs of the strange malady. These last,
Ignace among them, were still able to keep on their feet. Only the first
three victims were entirely out of commission.
The arrival of an ambulance, manned by a detail of men attached to the
base hospital, saw the work of caring for the sufferers speedily under
way. Already ordered to "Fall Out," the still unaffected men of the
platoon were dismissed with the order "To Barracks." They were also
instructed to report at the hospital at the slightest sign of
indisposition.
During the excitement an ominous whisper had winged its way among the
dismayed participants in the tragic scene which presently grew to an
audible murmur of "Poison!" At that dread word, unspoken questions
leaped into the strained eyes of the gray-faced men who had thus far
felt no indications of that baleful seizure. In the same instant it had
come home to each that in some stealthy fashion one of the myriad secret
enemies of Uncle Sam had found his opportunity to strike. In the midst
of apparent safety had lurked an unknown, unguessed foe.