A BOCHE TESTIMONIAL
It was after eight o'clock that night when Jimmy's detachment finished
a supper of the inevitable bully beef and biscuit, washed down with
coffee furnished them by the kindly French woman to whom the stable
belonged, and whose farmhouse was situated only a short distance from
it.
Worn out by two-days' sojourn in the narrow confines of "Eight Horses,"
both Bob and Jimmy were only too glad to resign themselves to the
doubtful comfort of the straw-strewn stable floor.
It proved to be a restless night for all concerned. "Sergeant Blaise
and Thirty-Two Men" had their first unpleasant experience with the
"cooties," a baleful gray vermin that has been the perpetual bane of
the soldier in France since the beginning of the war.
Later, when trench life had taught the Khaki Boys to accustom
themselves to "most any old thing," the ever-present "cootie" became
insignificant when compared to other trials they were called upon to
endure. That first night, however, was one of such itching horror as
they were not likely to forget in a hurry.
In spite of this new trial they managed to snatch a little sleep,
though Jimmy stoutly declared his intention of rolling up in his poncho
and sleeping outdoors thereafter.
Obliged to depend upon the rations previously issued them for breakfast
the next morning, Jimmy rebelled and made a quick hike up to the
farmhouse, returning with the glowing information that "Madame" was
quite willing to furnish breakfast to such as desired to partake of her
hospitality. Her charges for the same were low, and the majority of the
men were very willing to pay them. In consequence, Sergeant Blaise's
little flock feasted on bacon, eggs, white bread, and preserves.
Breakfast finished, a hasty going over of equipment ensued, and Jimmy
marched his men to a not far distant field for inspection, where they
had been ordered to report and parade. Here they found the rest of
their own detachment. Inspection over, the entire unit put in the
morning in drill, with three ten-minute intermissions for rest, during
which the newly arrived Sammies had a chance to compare notes.
The first of these intermissions saw the five Brothers engaged in
a zealous hunt for one another. Together, Bob and Jimmy made speedy
effort to locate their bunkies, managing to pick them up just as the
command came to "Fall in."
"Meet us here, next break," called Bob over his shoulder, as he ran
back to his squad.
At the next order of "Fall Out," the five made prompt rush for the spot
which Bob had designated.
"Well!" exclaimed Roger, as they grouped themselves eagerly together.
"Where did you fellows get off at?"
"In a stable," was Jimmy's disgusted answer. "It's not far from here.
Our 'at home' sign's out."
"Come and see us. You'll love the place. I hate to think of leaving
it," grimaced Bob.
"I'm in the same boat. I mean the same sweet kind of a billet," grinned
Roger. "A nice hard floor, straw, lots of 'cooties,' and all the
comforts of a cow barn. Schnitz lives in a house that nobody else but
Sammies wanted. The folks moved away before the French Revolution came
off and took the furniture along."
"Nothing left but dust and rats," supplemented Schnitzel. "We haven't
found any live stock yet. That's something to brag of."
"Iggy is the lucky guy. He's in a real house with real people, real
eats, and real beds to sleep in. He and his squad grabbed a cinch."
"I don't like," objected Ignace mournfully. "My Brother sleep in
stable, so would I there be."
"Can the sob stuff, Iggy," railed Bob, though his black eyes were very
kind. "Never mind about us. Be glad you landed soft."
"I am no the pig," asserted Ignace with lofty dignity.
"Sure you aren't. If you were you couldn't camp in that nice billet.
You'd land in a pig sty, and that would be worse than a cow barn."
Bob winked drolly at Roger.
"Where'll we meet after drill?" broke in Jimmy. "We'll have to decide
right off the bat. Our time's almost up."
"Right here," suggested Schnitzel. "We'll probably break ranks and be
dismissed here on account of being scattered all over the village."
"I wonder if we are going to have regular mess kitchens set up. Don't
believe we will, though. I guess it's cook-wagons for ours or buy our
own grub if we want variety. I have an idea we're going to move on
soon."
"I hope so," Bob said fervently. "These Frenchies are very decent about
not soaking a fellow for his grub. They'd give it to you if you'd let
'em. Even so, pay-day's a long way off, and Bobby's no millionaire.
I like to pay as I go. These people can't afford to treat after all
they've been through. A franc in itself isn't much, but when it's a
franc here, and two francs there, it counts up like the mischief."
"Wait till I hear from home and we'll have money to burn," declared
generous Jimmy. "I had the nerve to ask Dad for five hundred. I'll bet
I get it, too."
"Keep the change," laughed Roger. "Your money's no good with us. We
spends our own and goes broke. Blime if we gets so low as to sponge off
a pal!"
Roger imitated to perfection the tone of a Tommy. The Khaki Boys had,
by this time, come to know and like many of England's sturdy, fighting
Tommies.
Command to again "Fall In" broke up the brief reunion. Drill ending at
noon, the Sammies were given the rest of the day for their own until
Retreat, which was scheduled to take place on the impromptu parade
ground at the usual hour.
Left to themselves, the five Brothers gathered briefly together after
dismissal. Agreeing to meet again at the same place half an hour later,
they set off for their billets to put away their rifles.
Meeting again promptly at the appointed time, they started out to find
some place where they might obtain a substantial dinner. This was
rather hard to find, as almost every house in the village had its quota
of transient Sammies to care for. By dint of inquiry they finally
located a quaint little inn, and entered it to find it overflowing with
men of their own detachment who had also been seeking a place to eat
real food, regardless of expense.
After standing about waiting for a time, they at last managed to grab
a table, and were presently served with a savory meal, cooked in true
French fashion.
Dinner over, they left the inn and wandered about the village with its
quaint gray stone houses and winding streets. Close examination of it
showed that it had not escaped the enemy's spite. Here and there the
ruins of a house or a deep furrow in the ground showed the effects of
Boche gun or bomb work.
The inhabitants were a simple, friendly lot who treated them to smiling
looks and bobbing little bows of admiration and respect. The heart of
France beats warmly for Uncle Sam's Boys. Her people look upon them as
the savior of the Allied cause, come in the hour of need.
Deciding to put off writing letters to the home folks until the next
day, the five Khaki Boys spent their entire afternoon in wandering
aimlessly about, seeing something of interest, no matter in which
direction they walked.
One sight in particular filled them with righteous wrath. Traversing
one of the smaller streets, they encountered an apple-cheeked French
woman and a boy of about ten years. To their united horror they
instantly noticed that the child's arms had been lopped off just below
the elbow.
"Great Heavens! Look at that!" muttered Bob, as the two drew nearer.
"Speak to her, Blaise. Ask her if that's Boche butchery."
"_Bon jour_, Madame." Jimmy's hand went to his helmet.
Since coming to the village, the Khaki Boys had been ordered to replace
their campaign hats with the bullet-proof helmets, which the soldier
must wear constantly as he approaches nearer to the firing lines.
"Is this your son?" he inquired in French. His gray eyes were dark with
mingled horror and sympathy, as he indicated the pitiful little figure.
"How did this happen to him?"
"But _non_, _Monsieur_," the woman replied. "He is a Belgian. _Les
Allemands_, this they do. Father and mother, both they kill. This poor
child--_Voila_, you see for yourself! He was brought to me thus. Now I
have taken him for my own. Three sons I once had. All died at Ypres and
for France."
In the face of this tragic recital, the five Khaki Boys stood silent.
Instantly every helmet was doffed to this grand figure of womanhood.
There were no signs of tears in her bright black eyes as she spoke,
only a fleeting expression of intense suffering, which merged instantly
into a look of intense pride, as she mentioned the loss of her sons.
"Ask her, Blazes, if she'll allow us to make the poor kiddie a
present," ordered Roger, a trifle unsteadily.
The woman flushed, then smiled, showing two rows of strong, white teeth.
"It is not necessary, Monsieur," she returned. "Still, if _les
Americains_ of the great heart please--I am very poor."
"Cough up a dollar or two apiece, quick," ordered Bob, who had
understood the reply. His recent complaint regarding far-off pay-day
was now forgotten.
Each Sammy's hand went instantly to his money belt.
"This is your donation party, Rodge." Jimmy handed a two-dollar note to
Roger. Ignace, Schnitzel and Bob handed him a like amount.
Adding his own offering, Roger tendered it to the woman, who thanked
them with a pretty courtesy that quite won their hearts.
"Can such things be?" was Bob's savage question as they strolled on.
"It's bad enough to read about 'em, but when you meet 'em face to face!
Ugh! Lead me to the trenches, and do it quick!"