IN THE HOSPITAL
“Well, how are you feeling this morning, Dave?”
“A great deal better than I did yesterday, Roger. I think, if all goes
well, I’ll be up on my feet by to-morrow.”
“You’ve got to go slow, so the nurse tells me. That wound was rather a
serious one, even though it was clean-cut.”
“I suppose I can be thankful that it didn’t go through my lungs instead
of my side,” went on Dave, with an attempt at a smile. “How are you
feeling, Roger?”
“Oh, I’m all right again.”
“And how is Phil?”
“Here he comes to speak for himself,” answered the young corporal.
About two weeks had elapsed since that memorable day when Dave and
the other fighting engineers had made such a record of bravery for
themselves. Through them the new road through the forest had been held,
and now the American line in that direction had been advanced from
eight to ten miles. The Germans in that vicinity were gradually being
shoved into a pocket, and the Allies felt certain that sooner or later
they would break away and begin a general retreat.
As Dave intimated, the bullet which had prostrated him had passed
through his side not a great distance from his right lung. It had been
a clean-cut flesh wound, however, and no complications had followed.
At first Dave had been taken to a temporary field hospital, but
twenty-four hours later he had been placed in one of the big ambulances
along with a number of others and rushed to a base hospital some
distance back from the lines, and it was at this place he now rested.
He had been given the best of medical attention, and a Red Cross nurse
saw to it that he had every comfort.
During those days in the hospital our hero had been visited twice by
Captain Obray, who himself had been slightly wounded in the fray. The
captain was very grateful to Dave for what he had done, insisting that
our hero had saved his life.
“I shall never forget this, Porter, never!” the captain had said, in a
voice filled with emotion. “And I want everybody to know it--even your
folks at home.”
Many of the engineers had been cited for special bravery, and at
the top of the list was Dave’s name, for which, of course, he was
pardonably proud. He had likewise been recommended for promotion.
“I understand they are going to offer you a lieutenancy, Dave,”
remarked Phil, after he had come up and greeted his chum.
“A lieutenancy!” exclaimed Dave, his eyes lighting up with expectancy.
“That’s the talk around camp. And I don’t know that anybody in our
company deserves it more than you do.”
“Phil is right!” added Roger. “And maybe it will come pretty quick,
too, Dave. Somebody has got to fill poor Harney’s place.”
“I think you fellows ought to be promoted yourselves.”
“There has been a little talk of making us sergeants,” answered Roger.
“Of course, we won’t complain if they insist on shoving us up,” and he
grinned. Even though he was the son of a United States senator who had
made a great record for himself at Washington, Roger was as modest as
any engineer in the corps.
During the days spent in the base hospital our hero had received
several letters from home, all of which had given him more or less
satisfaction. First had come a communication from his father, giving
him many particulars of how matters were going both in business and
at home, and stating that he and Dave’s Uncle Dunston were once more
active in Liberty Loan work and that Mr. Wadsworth had doubled his
previous subscription to the loan.
Then had come a brief communication from his sister Laura, stating that
she had heard he was wounded, but was glad to know that it was not
serious. She added that she was writing a longer letter to Roger and
that Jessie was also sending him a communication which would probably
tell him all the things he cared most to know. She added that old
Professor Potts had recovered somewhat from his recent indisposition
and was again around, spending, as before, most of his time in the
Wadsworth library, poring over his precious volumes.
And then two days later had come the long-looked-for letter from
Jessie. Still weak from his wounds, Dave’s hands had trembled not a
little when he tore this communication open to peruse it.
The heart of the girl whom the young engineer adored was in that
letter, and Dave read it over many times. In it Jessie spoke of the
shock she had received when the casualty lists in the daily newspapers
had contained the information that Dave had been wounded. Then she told
how a cablegram from Roger had been received, stating that it was not
serious.
“You cannot imagine, dear Dave, how much relieved we were to receive
that cablegram,” Jessie continued. “We had not slept at all during
the night. It was dreadful to think that you had been shot down
by those awful Germans. Oh, Dave, when you get around again do be
careful! If anything happened to you I do not know what I would do. I
don’t think I would care to live any longer.”
“Dear, dear Jessie!” murmured Dave, as he read this paragraph several
times. “The best girl that ever lived!”
Jessie then went on to relate about how she had missed some letters
from Dave which had since arrived in a bunch, and she added that she
herself had forwarded several letters to him which for some reason he
could not have received.
“After this I am going to number the letters,” she added; “so you
will know exactly what is missing, if any.
“Of course you have seen Laura’s letters to Roger, so you know all
about the success of our entertainments here for the local charities.
Although it called for a good deal of hard work, there was not a
little fun attached to it, too, and I am sure we all enjoyed it.
There was only one cloud for me, Dave; and now that it has passed
I hardly think it is worth mentioning. Still, as some day or other
you may meet Lieutenant Gebauer, or possibly Nat Poole, who knows of
what occurred, perhaps it would be best for me to let you know just
how things stand.
“Lieutenant Gebauer, as you are aware, is connected with the Gebauer
jewelry concern of Philadelphia, and he and Papa transact quite a
good deal of business. He often visits Crumville, and when Papa heard
he had joined the army and got a commission, he was so pleased that
he asked Gebauer to our house.
“From that time on the lieutenant--for what reason I know not,
because I gave him no encouragement--became very attentive to me. He,
of course, knew how matters stood between you and me, but that seemed
to have no effect on him. He insisted upon pressing his attentions on
me, until I was forced to give him the cold shoulder. Through Papa he
gave me a very handsome Red Cross pin, one which their concern has
something to do with manufacturing. But I am not going to wear it.
I have a pin which I purchased myself. He was quite put out when I
finally dropped him, and went off in anything but a good humor.
“During his stay here in Crumville in some manner or other he became
acquainted with the Pooles; and when Nat was home on leave of absence
from the training camp the two became quite chummy. Both of them are
now in France, and it is possible that you may meet them, and for
that reason, as I said before, I think you ought to know how matters
stand. Lieutenant Gebauer may try to make you believe that we are
very friendly, but it is not true. I simply tolerated him because
I didn’t wish to do anything which might interfere with Papa’s
business connections with the Philadelphia concern.”
There was more of this, Jessie going into some of the details of
what had taken place between her and the lieutenant during the
entertainments and for a week or two following. She did not say
outright, but Dave could read between the lines, and he felt certain
that Max Gebauer had in the end made himself quite obnoxious, even
though outwardly he had acted the part of a gentleman.
“He must be a regular pill,” was Dave’s mental comment, as he put the
letter away. “If he’s that sort, he’d better not come around where I
am. He certainly can’t amount to much if he trains with such a chap as
Nat Poole.”
Dave was quite curious to know whether Lieutenant Gebauer and Nat Poole
had really come over to France. But there was no way of finding out.
He questioned a number with whom he came in contact, who had been at
various American camps throughout France, but not one could give him a
word concerning the pair.
During those days came another cause for gratitude. Buster Beggs had
recovered from the gas attack which had laid him low, and had once
more joined the engineers at the front. His eyes were a trifle weak as
yet, and he had to be careful of what he ate for fear of getting sick
at the stomach, but otherwise he was as well as ever. Shadow was also
around again.
It was a great day for Dave when he was allowed to get up and put on
his clothes once more and go out into the sunshine. He felt quite
shaky, and he was glad enough to rest after walking but a short
distance. The base hospital had once been a château, and in the
garden was a beautiful fountain surrounded by flowers, and here the
convalescent soldiers gathered on benches to regain their health and to
talk over the war.
“I think the war will end in another three or four months,” said one of
the convalescents.
“That’s right; they must be pretty close to the end of their
resources,” put in another.
“Don’t you believe that, Jack,” came from a third. “They must have been
close to the end of their resources before, but now you must remember
they are plundering the Russians of everything of use in that country.
They’ll be able to get immense quantities of food and war material that
were meant for the Russian army, and that will keep them going for a
long while.”
“The collapse of Russia will undoubtedly help the Germans to continue
the conflict,” said Dave. “But I believe that sooner or later they’ll
have to give in. They must know that they cannot stand against all of
us combined.”
“I’ll tell you where we have got them,” said another of the
convalescents, a marine who had seen some fierce fighting ever since
the Americans had entered the contest. “The Heinies can fight well
enough while they are in a bunch, but as soon as you separate them
they become next to helpless. Their individual soldiers don’t seem to
have any initiative. Now with our men it’s just the opposite. They’ll
fight well enough together, but let them get separated, and each man is
on his mettle to do the very best he knows how and make a record for
himself.”
“You are right there,” replied Dave. “And that puts me in mind of a
story I heard only yesterday. A Western cowboy, who knew all about
rounding up cattle but very little about army life, was in one of the
advances and all at once became separated from the rest of his command.
He wandered around until he came to a trench, and then found a dugout
containing some German soldiers.
“Now it seems this cowboy had been on kitchen duty for his company some
days before, and as he didn’t like peeling potatoes and doing stunts
like that he was very much out of humor. He pointed his gun at the
dugout and yelled to the Germans to come out. One of them held up his
hands and managed to ask in broken English what was wanted.
“‘You come out of that or I’ll fire this hand-grenade at you!’ yelled
the cowboy, and flourished something in his hand.
“The Germans became very much frightened, and one after another came
out of the dugout and lined up, hands in the air. There were five of
them, and the cowboy motioned to them to march with their hands up in
the direction of the American line. Once or twice the Germans balked,
but every time they did this the cowboy made a swing with his hand as
if to throw a grenade at them.
“Finally they got near the American lines and some other soldiers came
out to see what was doing.
“‘I’ve got five of the Heinies here,’ announced the cowboy calmly. ‘And
it only took this baked potato to bring ’em in,’ and then he showed the
supposed hand-grenade, which was only a common potato which he had kept
as a memento of his hours in the camp kitchen.”
“Some potato!” cried one of the listeners.
“That was sure a raw deal,” said another laughing.
“No raw deal at all--the potato was baked,” answered Dave, with a grin,
and at this there was another laugh.
A few days later Dave was getting ready to leave the hospital. Once on
his feet, his strength had returned rapidly, and he now insisted that
he be allowed to return to his command.
“You are certainly a plucky soldier,” remarked the Red Cross nurse who
had been taking care of him. “Not many of the boys are as anxious to
leave as you are.”
Dave was sitting on a bench waiting for the lorry which was to take him
and a number of others back to the front, when an ambulance came up
with some wounded. Three were on stretchers, but others were able to
get out themselves and walk into the hospital.
“Dave Porter!”
The cry came from one of the soldiers who had descended from the
ambulance, a fellow in the regulation khaki and with his left hand done
up in a sling. Our hero stared at the new arrival in amazement.
It was Nat Poole!