The Argosy, April 1916 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

140 ‘he can’t lie there. How do you feel, my man?” he added, bending down. Harker seemed a bit dazed at first, but he soon pulled himself together. | “T’ll be all right, sir,” he said, ‘“‘as soon as the doctors have straightened me out.” The captain turned to Blades, who was standing straight up, staring at Harker, with a strange look on his face. “T congratulate you, Private Blades,” he said. ‘‘It- was a very plucky thing to do. I shall see that it doesn’t get overlooked. Are you all right?” Blades saluted and nodded. .It seemed as though he couldn’t speak a word. The young officer smiled and walked away. Harker looked up at his rescuer. “I’m glad of that, old chap,” he said, “It was simply splendid of you. I swear T’ll never chaff you again.” THE ARGOSY. He meant to show gratitude, but he couldn’t keep the note of conscious superior- ity out of his voice, though hardly any of the men standing by noticed it. “Tt’s like a blooming Sunday Sch book,” one of them whispered to anoth “Tl be blubbering in a minute.” But Blades looked like no Sunday School book hero. His face was horribly, atroci- ously contorted. Twice his lips parted, but only a sort of growl came. Then he burst out, and his voice was worse than his twitching face. “IT d—d—don’t think you will, you d— d—dirty c—-c—c—carrion. I’d have ]—l— let you r—r—r—rot out there till dooms- day, only I m—m—meant you to owe your m—m—nmiserable ]—life to me. You’ve p—p—played a p—pretty g—g—game with me, you b—b—brute, but I’ve won the r—r—r—rubber after all.” NIGHT SOUNDS “THERE clung a silence to the land, Unbroken since the set of sun; Then, from the garden, still and dun, A cricket chirruped close at hand. The moon rose great and slow and cold Above the woodlands far away; The shadows of her ghost of day Were softly dark about the fold. Then lowed the kine, as if in fear; Slowly and mournfully they lowed, - Disconsolate. A shot, a cry! Far down the road A man drew near. Reeling, he labored toward the gate, Then on the ancient door-step crashed? Forth from the room a woman dashed, To see the life-blood of her mate. Above his silent breast she screamed. His setter sprang against his chain, As, shaft by shaft, beyond the grain The battle’s sudden search- lights gleamed, Soon tumult wakened left and right, As, to the roar of gun and shell, The tempest of the man-made hell Rushed flaming on the shattered night. A moment, and the mourner lay Dead by her dead. A little more, And that red hurricane of war Swept, trampling, on its human prey. But though the loosened thunders wild Sprang ceaseless from the battle-gloom, A quiet breathing in the room Told of the slumber of their child! George Sterling. 1DOOLK C@