Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE FOURTH CHUM. for harsh treatment of men. ‘There had been an inevitable rebellion after the armi- stice, and contact with colonial troops had made the Tommy think. Thirty days’ pay stopped, or perhaps a fortnight’s confinement to barracks, would be the limit of Scutt’s punishment; and what was the loss of thirty days’ pay when he had fifty pounds under his left knee? And he could always get around confine- ment to barracks, for he had a little bunk of his own and, as a captain’s servant, was detached from battery duty. The real dif- ficulty was that the man in the cell next him would be free to move about in bar- racks by nine o’clock in the morning, where- as he would possibly be detained until noon. It was the major’s custom to mete out punishments just after the battery had dis- persed to gun and driving drill, and some- times, when the list was long, he was at it until stables blew at half past eleven. In that period his fellow prisoner might get rid of the stones, but the batman thought that, all in all, there was not much chance of that. He was the kind of crazy blighter who would carry many thousand pounds of jew- els about in his tunic pocket and hang his tunic on a peg where any trumpeter could rifle the pockets of it for cigarettes. With these comforting thoughts he fell asleep, and awoke in the same high humor. When he went to the wash room, the Yank was shaving. The soap, plus the ef- fort of crouching so that he could see his face in the mirror, killed conversation. But the batman noted that he wore his tunic and that the pocket flaps were all buttoned tight. When the tall man had finished shaving he gathered up his things and went back to his cell, where the batman heard him polishing. After breakfast he left with grave greet- ings to the members of the guard, but no word for his fellow prisoner, who stood in the wash room door and looked out upon the coal pile in the corner of the exercise yard. That pile was one of the curious laxities in the strictest army in the world— a desperate prisoner could make his escape over it, and every corporal of the guard knew it; but each had shrugged his shoul- 651 der and told himself that he wasn’t the one who had started it. He would take a chance and trust to luck that the escape over the coal pile would come in the guard after his own. And in the meantime the guard room had three times its proper ration of coal to burn. As the batman watched, the two newest members of the guard came out with a tub and filled it to the brim and carried it inside as if they were carrying gold. He heard the bugles singing general as- sembly all over the garrison, and the clamor of iron-shod feet as the sections fell in out- side stables. Then came the barking of orders, tramping of feet, the clatter of horses as the gun teams and riding classes filed out under the arches, and then silence. With his heart picking up, he gave his buttons and shoes an extra touch, for he knew that he would soon be facing the ma- jor, and that a clean soldier always got a lighter sentence than a dirty one. An escort came for him—two gunners with carbines, and a bombardier—and as he heard the rifle butts strike the stone a chill crept over him. But every prisoner who went in to see the major had an armed guard, and his confidence held. The major was not alone. There was a ring of grave officers behind him, among them Captain Angelsey, who looked at his servant without a sign of recognition. The dining hall bombardier was there, and the batman heard his crime recited in minute detail, not omitting the swear words that had passed between them. When the story was finished the major looked up at the batman and said: “ Have you anything to say for yourself?” And he, knowing that an officer hates a glib criminal, said: “ No, sir.” He waited for his sentence, confinement to barracks, or stopping of pay, but instead the major dis- missed him without a word. For a mo- ment he had a wild hope that he was to go scot-free, but the bombardier gave, “ Left, turn! Quick march!” and led him back to the jail. It was queer, he thought, as he sat on his cot, but still he was confident. Well, Angelsey was a mild mannered sort of man to whom all the soldiers turned in times of Gomichookstco