Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

6 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “ Best in the army,” he volunteered read- ily. “ Eighty-Eighth New York National Guard! Last call for supper! Hop in be- fore the draft gets you. What name, buddy?” The tall man hesitated. The sergeant poised his pen over the inkwell, and grinned. “Think up a good one,” he suggested. *T don’t care what it is.” “ Stewart Hull—and it’s the right one. No address and no occupation! Any ob- jections to that?” the tall man concluded defiantly. “ Hell, no! We're lookin’ for men, not pedigrees, now!”’ a CHAPTER IIT. THE BRAND OF THE “ DOUBLE-EIGHT.” HE Eighty-Eighth, known affection- ately by the regimental rank and file ; as the “ Double Eight,” was neither as ancient nor as swagger as the fashion- able Sixty-Seventh. Memberships were not handed down from father to son like family heirlooms. As a matter of fact, the fathers of most of the members started life in Ireland, Italy, Germany, or Russia, and had flowed into the land of the free through the narrow im- migration channel of old Castle Garden. It was not an old regiment as traditions go, having been organized as recently as the Civil War; but the brass tablet inside the armory doors, listed with the names of the battles fought by the Double Eights was a significant testimonial. Stewart Hull, fresh from the hands of the examining doctor, paused in front of the tablet, with his arms full of uniform and equipment, shoes, overcoat, leggings, and hat. “* Some battin’ average, eh, big boy?” the sergeant chuckled. “ Read ’em an’ weep! Bull Run—Antietam—Gettysburg—Appo- mattox—”’ ‘* Antietam,” Hull nodded. “‘ My grand- father was there—with another Union regi- ment though.” “Sure,” the sergeant agreed generously. : * There was other outfits there, too. Which one was he with?” “ The Sixty-Seventh New York.” “With the swell guys, eh? He must have had dough. But that’s a good crowd, too—only too rich for my blood. They left for the South to-day. We'll probably meet up with them down there before we go across. Come on, an’ I’ll let you meet your buddies in the squad-room. You'll be in C Company—Captain Donovan’s. Better meet him first.”’ He led the way up the broad stairs, worn with generations of marching feet, past glass cases holding stained flags and yellowed muster-rolls, and knocked at a heavy, oaken door halfway down a long passage. “Come!” a brisk voice commanded. “Leave your stuff on the floor hére till afterward,” the sergeant suggested. Captain Donovan proved to be a square- jawed man of fifty or so with the alert, ath- letic figure of twenty-one. He listened to the sergeant’s report, but his keen, blue eyes, set deeply behind heavy brows, never left the face of the recruit. Instinctively, Hull’s heels came together, and his hands straightened at his sides. “ All right, sergeant,” the captain direct- ed. ‘You can leave the papers here. DU have Hull take them around later.” Stewart waited for several minutes after the sergeant left while Captain Donovan glanced through the report of the physical examination, and the enlistment form. Vinally, he leaned back in his chair. “T always like to get acquainted with each man personally,” he explained. “ It makes things easier all around. By the way, you may stand at ease. You have had some military training, I see. Have you served in the National Guard before?” Under the searching glance of the older man Stewart reddened. Somehow, the ready evasion would not come out. _ “T served with the Sixty-Seventh for a couple of years,” he admitted. Captain Donovan tapped the enlistment paper with his fingers. “It doesn’t say so here. Did you forget to mention it?” ‘“No. I purposely left it out. I didn’t want questions asked. I’m not a good liar —I—1I was released this morning from the penitentiary!”