Getting into Harness

"Compn-eee, atten-tion!"

These were the first words of any significance that greeted Herbert Whitcomb and Roy Flynn when they alighted from a long train and took their first and interested view of an army encampment.

But all along—in fact, ever since they entered the train in another state, at Roy's home town of Listerville—the lads had witnessed many and constant sights that reminded them of the stern duty now before them. They had taken the oath to serve Uncle Sam from that very June day and they had traveled with many others sworn to the same earnest, fearless task.

With crude, small bundles in hand—for thus they had come, knowing full well that equipment for new duties would be given them—the boys, amidst a crowd of eager welcomers clad in khaki and many fellow travelers in plain clothes, filed in a slow-moving line across a tramped field, across a roadway, between fence posts and were ushered into a long, low building, one of many such that faced an exceedingly wide street fully a quarter of a mile long. Parallel to this ran other streets flanked by similar but smaller buildings, all of them being but one story high, with slightly sloping roofs.

There was something plain, strong, durable and altogether business-like about this newly made little city that spoke of utility only, without frills or any effort at useless show.

The only thing of beauty to be seen anywhere near was the glorious Stars and Stripes floating from the peaks of many of the buildings; by far the largest flag waved in the soft early summer breeze from a great iron flagpole near the entrance end of the main camp street.

Two trim figures in khaki uniforms and leather puttees came and stood near the boys and conversed audibly.

"Quite a likely bunch of rookies this time," said one.

"Guess they'll get some material out of them, old and young. These two here are just kids."

"Look like promising chaps, though. Wonder when the adjutant and Colonel Fraley are going to get busy. And then—say! It's going to be some fun breaking in all these new men. Well, there's two things they didn't have to teach me—that's how to sleep and to have an appetite! Me for the mess whenever they toot!"

"Here, too! There's one thing, though, haven't you noticed, that the boys are generally deficient in? That's shooting. I think——"

"That we ought to practise more? Sure. And we ought to have better instructors; not men who know it theoretically, but fellows that can actually show some skill. Lieutenant Merrill can't hit a barn door; saw him try. Score was rotten. Then trying to show us how! I spoke to the captain about that and he said he was going to take it up with the colonel and he will tackle the general, I suppose. Cap said many of the men were complaining and wanted to get practice."

Roy had been listening intently to this colloquy and now he stepped forward and saluted.

"Beg pardon, but do you think the very best shot in the United States of America would be in demand, then, here?"

The two soldiers laughed and one said:

"Are you the champion rifle—-?"

"Not I. But my friend here is all o' that. He can beat the chump who invented the gun. Take it from me, he can 'most knock the eye out of a mosquito at a hundred——"

"Oh, cut the comedy, old man!" Herb shouted. "They send a man to the guard-house here for less. We've got to learn more than how to shoot."

"Right; you do!" answered one of the soldiers, making a quick and evidently satisfactory appraisal of Herbert. "But we don't have a guard-house here; remember that. We go on the honor system. As soon as you fellows get assigned and get your uniforms, which'll take some little time——"

"We have a letter here for the commanding general that I'll bet he'll be dyin' to read!" declared Roy quickly.

"Oh, then, you'd better go to headquarters first of all. See that low building with the people sitting outside? Tell one of the aides there who you are; he'll fix you."

The Brighton lads were a little surprised and much pleased with the almost sudden absence of red tape. In a short time they confronted the camp commander and that personage proved to be far more kindly than his rather severe appearance and abrupt manner indicated. He seemed to take an especial interest in the boys, spoke to them briefly of their school and home life, uttered a short, though heartfelt "Too bad!" when learning that Herbert was an orphan and after an order to an aide respecting the two ended with:

"You shall be enrolled at once and placed, boys. There is much for you to learn. I will keep you both in mind and a little later on I want to witness your skill at shooting. We have too little ability here in that art."

The "little later" proved to be long over a month, in which time both boys had become privates in Company H, Officers' Corps, as far as the simpler requirements of knowing how to obey commands could take them. But they had soon learned that Camp Wheeler was partly an officers' training camp; that they had to study and practise and drill and listen to lectures and practise some more and study some more for many, many hours each day and that they were always ready for the wholesome, plentiful food and the comfortable cot at night, finding the enforced silence, after taps were sounded, not a whit unreasonable.

There was some little time off and then leave on Sundays when the boys, sometimes with others of their company, or more often by themselves, walked to the mile-distant town and bought sweets, knicknacks, ice cream, sundaes and other toothsome articles of the kind, craving a little novelty after the rather plain diet of the camp. Some there were who craved a little more than novelty and who sought it in ways that the law of neither town nor camp permitted. For it was known that the section around camp was, so-called, "dry."

Then Captain Leighton of Company H, as did all the others in command of such units, give the boys a little talk.

"You men," he said, "have the Y. M. C. A. and the Knights of Columbus as refining elements and spiritual aids. You have your chaplain, who is strong in sympathy and noble in precept. Above all, you have your integrity, your consciences, your pleasure in clean living as reminders of what is necessary in the conduct of an officer and a gentleman. Of this we have spoken before and also of that which is down deep in your hearts, sterling patriotism and the desire to win this war. And this does not mean drilling and discipline and method only. It means clean living; it does not expect of you only bravery, courage to face a foe, but manliness in every way. We all hope not only for good conduct in ourselves, but also to teach it by word and example to others. This all is the test of patriotism of a practical, battle-winning kind.

"Our general has requested those of us now in command of you, as you later will be in command, to talk to you about these matters and particularly in relation to the tendency to obtain and partake of intoxicants. Liquor is a trouble bringer, a brain stealer, a disgusting habit maker and you want to get away from it as you would from a German with a bayonet, killing it first, however, with your moral automatic. And now, I want all of you who favor these sentiments to respond with three rousing cheers for Lieutenant Total Abstinence. Are you ready? Hip, hip——"

The chorus of approval rang out with no uncertain sound; it seemed to be unanimous, beyond a doubt. But Herbert noticed, glancing once around, that here and there some of the fellows expressed in their faces that they were not in accord with the prevailing opinion. They had in some way been adversely prejudiced; perhaps were the sons of saloon keepers, brewers or distillers; perhaps had come from homes where unthinking parents had admitted the stuff to sideboard and table.

Among these dissenters was one Martin Gaul, a dark-skinned son of foreign parentage. He was morose, stubborn, and much inclined to be quarrelsome. Almost upon first acquaintance he had shown a marked and exceedingly unjust antagonism toward Roy. With Herbert, on the other hand, he had an inclination to be unduly friendly, even to the extent of toadying. But Herbert, ever loyal to his chum, treated this with cold disdain or deserved sarcasm.

Returning from the town one Sunday evening, the two boys overtook three others in khaki walking slowly ahead of them. One was talking loudly, with much unnecessary laughter; the others were grumbling, evidently disposed to disagree about something; one surely had a very decided grouch.

Herb nudged Roy. "Gaul ahead there," he said, "and Phillips. I wonder that Billy mixes in with that chump. Who's the other fellow?"

"Not of Company H. Some other bad egg from another bit of the alphabet," Roy remarked. "Come on, let's steer a course to leeward of them; the sidewalk mebbe can stand it."

"No, let's hang back a minute; or cross the street. Gaul's in a mood, I take it, to start a quarrel with you. I think they've all been drinking."

But walk as slowly as they did, they could hardly help drawing nearer, and then suddenly Herbert, though having just counseled prudence in his friend, darted forward and seized an object held up between Gaul and young Billy Phillips. Too much of this passing had made the trio careless of discovery.

Phillips ducked and dodged clumsily, as though expecting seizure himself, but Gaul turned fiercely to confront Herbert, the half-emptied whisky bottle gripped in the latter's hand.

"Oh, you! Now that ain't a very nice trick to play on a fellow, unless you want a pull at it yourself. In that case you're most welcome, old top."

Herb did not reply to Gaul, but addressed Phillips: "Billy, you're a blamed fool to disobey orders in this way and go against common sense and decency. You know you're not that kind of a chap, in the first place. Time to cut it out."

Roy Flynn took a hand in the conversation.

"Birds of a feather do not always flock together, it would seem," he said. "At least, not in your case, Phillips. Evil associations gather no moss and a rolling stone corrupts good manners. You ought to know that, me lad."

"Are you meaning to sling any insults by that?" Gaul suddenly exploded. "Mebbe you want a slam on the jaw, which you're liable to get!"

"Never a bit! But I reckon you're electioneering to elect trouble."

"You can't make no trouble for me, you red-headed Mick! I think I'll just take a fall out o' you, anyway." Saying which Gaul advanced upon Roy.

"You're on, me lad," was Flynn's rejoinder.