This tale already has been in print. Browning, of the Herald, Rodman, of the Globe, and Major Larry, of The Third, were jointly responsible for its first appearance. But inasmuch as it was printed in the papers, and since things that see the light in that way speedily are forgotten—unless, to the confusion of those who first perpetrated them, they happen to be available for resurrection in deadly parallel columns—it has seemed good to rescue it from the oblivion of last year’s dusty files.

Major Larry, it will be remembered, is the young gentleman whom Captain Tom Stearns, of A Company, once upon a time appointed “Company Kid” of his command. How Larry afterwards demonstrated the wisdom of the captain’s selection, and how he won promotion to the position for which his soul yearned—the post of honor at the front of the big bass-drum—already has been told. In fact, since Major Larry numbers his friends and acquaintances by the hundred, he needs no farther introduction.

It was two weeks after the regimental autumn manoeuvres, and twenty minutes after recall had sounded on a certain drill night. The adjutant threaded his way along the swarming corridors of the big armory, climbed a flight of oaken stairs, and turned in at the doorway of A’s quarters. In the captain’s room he found Major Larry, industriously plying a whisk broom upon a braided fatigue-jacket.

“Where’s Stearns?” demanded the adjutant, halting upon the threshold.

Larry promptly brought his heels together, tucked the jacket under his left arm, and smartly raised his right hand, brush and all, to his forehead. “Cap’n Stearns?” said he. “He’s flew.”

“Humph!” grunted the adjutant. “The captain’s flew, eh? And his report’s ten days over-due!”

“W’at’s de report dat’s missin’?” anxiously inquired Larry.

The adjutant turned and looked down upon his questioner. “Oh, it’s not a matter of life-and-death importance,” said he; “only Captain Stearns ought to have sent in a written account of his company’s part in the manoeuvres, and I should have had it long ago.”

“I was wid A,” said the boy. “W’at’s de matter wid me reportin’?”

The adjutant paused and considered. Major Larry is noted for keen observation of men and things, and his command of words, such as they are, is a source of joy to all at headquarters. The adjutant decided accordingly. “What’s the matter indeed!” said he, starting towards the colonel’s room. “Come along with me, Major. We’ll make this report a verbal one.”

In the colonel’s private office a coal fire was glowing in the open grate. Before it sat the chief, with Browning and Rodman, the two “war correspondents,” who had dropped in to see if anything of interest in regimental matters was about to happen. Everybody in the service knows Browning and Rodman, and knows them, moreover, collectively; because, as a rule, where one of them is found, there also is to be found the other. What would the annual tour of camp duty be without their presence? And how, but for them, would the great and careless Public be kept from forgetting the very existence of that modest institution, the volunteer service?

“Did you get that report?” asked the colonel, looking up as the adjutant and Major Larry entered.

“No, sir,” replied the adjutant. “Captain Stearns is compelled to ask for an extension of time. But I’ve done the next best thing. Here’s Major Larry Callahan, the captain’s chief of staff, who has kindly volunteered to report in person on the operations of A Company.”

At the adjutant’s opening words the colonel frowned, but, as he finished, the frown gave way to a very broad smile. Larry neither frowned nor smiled, but stood attention, awaiting orders. He was very much in earnest, feeling that his patron, the delinquent captain, was in a bad box, from which it was his duty to extricate him.

Rodman leaned over towards his fellow journalist, and said something in a low tone, at the same time placing a coin upon his knee, concealed by his outspread hand.

“Heads,” said Browning, nodding assent to the proposition that had been made.

“Guess again!” said Rodman, uncovering the silver piece; “it’s tails. This is my story.” And he quietly drew a note-book from his pocket.

“Well?” said the colonel, turning towards Larry.

“It’s be’n dis way wid de cap’n,” said the boy; “he isn’t had much time since de battle, an’ to-night he was called out o’ town sudden. I jus’ got a cab for’m to hustle to de ten-t’irty express. But I c’n report w’at A done, if youse want it right off, jus’ as well’s de cap’n could. ’Cause I was dere, see? An’ I didn’t have nuttin’ on me mind ’ceptin’ to catch on to w’at was happenin’. It was diffrunt wid de cap’n: he was busy wid bot’ han’s, tryin’ to keep de boys from blowin’ de heads off’n ’emselves.”

“I see,” said the colonel. “But you should have been with the drum corps, Larry. What brought you in with A?”

“Well,” said Major Larry in some confusion, “t’ings was terruble slow in de drummin’ department. We wasn’t in de fight, you know, sir, an’ I didn’t feel like I was learnin’ nuttin’ ’bout war, a-sittin’ down in de shade an’ listenin’ to de fellies tell yarns dat was grey headed w’en Noah was yachtin’ in de ark. So w’en de drum major started in to get off de rattiest ches’nut o’ de season, I oozed out o’ sight behin’ a big tree, an’ from dat I skinned across to anodder one, an’ den I sneaked it, t’rough de brush an’ over de fields, to where A was posted.”

“H’m!” muttered the colonel, frowning darkly. “How long is it, Adjutant, since we’ve had to have a regimental court-martial?”

“I didn’t mean to do nuttin’ wrong, sir!” said Larry hastily. “I wasn’t no use where I was, an’ I t’ought p’raps I c’d be some help to de cap’n if I happened over dat way. I didn’t t’ink de drum major needed me any longer, sir. An’ he didn’t say I couldn’t go. Hones’!”

“Well, you can thank your lucky stars that I didn’t catch you away from your post,” said the colonel grimly. “This time I’ll overlook the breach of discipline on account of your extreme youth, but you’ll do well to be careful in the future. And now go on with your report.”

The adjutant quietly slipped out of the room, going in the direction of the staff office. He was back again in an instant, and soon after he had seated himself, Langforth, the paymaster, and Woodleigh, Q.M., casually put in an appearance and took possession of a couple of chairs near the door.

“I—I don’ know,” said Larry hesitatingly, in response to the colonel’s command, “jus’ exackly how to begin. I was dere, for a fac’, an’ seen de whole scrap—but I aint used to makin’ reports.”

“You’ll begin,” said the colonel, slowly and impressively, “by describing the terrain—”

“W’at’s dat?” interrupted Larry most respectfully.

“It means the lay of the land,” said the colonel. “You’ll describe to us the lay of the land. Then you’ll state the disposition of the troops engaged. And then you’ll tell what those troops did, paying particular attention to the operations of A Company. Go on.”

Major Larry fumbled for an instant with one of the shining brass buttons of his blue blouse, then stiffened his back, cleared his throat, saluted, and began his account of the battle.

“I have de honor to report,” said he, “dat de follerin’ t’ings took place, sir, jus’ two weeks ago yesterd’y, w’ich was Toosd’y.

“First, ’bout de lay o’ de lan’: it lain dis way. Dere was a big hayin’ field, shaped somet’in’ like a big piece o’ pie wid a big bite tooken out’n one end of it—dat is, out’n de small end o’ de wedge. De roundin’ edge o’ de field, same’s de part o’ de pie dat comes nex’ de rim o’ de plate, was composed of a river. Dis was ’bout two foot deep, an’ it couldn’t be forded across by militia, ’count o’ de danger o’ wettin’ pants, w’ich is State propity. So’s dis part o’ de battle-field was dead-safe. See?”

Rodman desisted for a moment from inscribing distorted fish-hooks in his note-book, and glanced towards the colonel. The chief was vigorously twisting his grey moustache in a vain attempt to maintain his official composure.

“Nex’ dat roundin’ edge,” continued Larry with his eyes fixed upon the golden eagle surmounting the regimental color which occupied one corner of the room, “come a straight edge. Dat was a road, an’ where it joined de roundin’ edge was at a bridge ’cross de river. Den come de point w’ich had be’n bit off. W’at youse might call de mout’ful was a sort o’ mixed-up mess o’ bushes an’ trees.

“Dis ’counts for de crust edge, an’ one side, an’ de bit place o’ de piece o’ pie. De side dat’s lef’ was made by t’ree little hills, wid an ol’ stone wall runnin’ up an’ down along de tops of ’em, like de stripe on a sergeant’s trowsies. An’ dat was de way in w’ich de lay o’ de lan’ lain.”

Langforth rose and stepped over to the corner in which stood the black-board on whose surface have been worked out so many problems in regimental strategy. He made a few rapid passes with the chalk, and there came into being a map of a range of three low hills, looking down across a triangular field towards a highway, and flanked on one side by a river, on the other by a patch of scrubby woodland.

“Dat’s de stuff!” commented Larry approvingly, as this example of topographical art took form. “’Twas jus’ like dat.” “Now,” said the paymaster to the boy, “you can put in your troops.”

Larry took the crayon in his unwilling fingers, and doubtfully advanced upon the black-board. He often had seen officers lay off the broad white lines denoting the positions of battalions and companies, but he was not quite sure that he could perform the feat himself. However, he was not going to give up without a trial, and so, bracing himself for the effort, he slowly and carefully scraped the chalk across the black surface before him.

“De sec’nd battalion was de enermy,” said he, after he had chalked the map to his satisfaction. “Dat is, we was de enermy o’ de first an’ t’ird battalions. Dey, o’ course, was our enermy. G was on dis hill, H was on de middle ’un, an’ L was on de one at de lef’. A was deplored as skirmishers.”

“‘Deplored as skirmishers!’” said the colonel softly. “Wonder how Stearns would like that bit of description.”

“Oh, I mos’ forgot tellin’ ’bout de disposition o’ de troops,” said Major Larry, suddenly recalling one of the chief’s requirements. “Near’s I c’d make out, de disposition o’ most of ’em was fine. Our fellies was disposed to knock de stuffin’ out’n de enermy, an’ if it hadn’t be’n for de cap’n and de lieutenants we’d have started a private dead-yard down in our corner w’en K‘s boys come chargin’ inter de woods.

“An’ dis brings me to de report o’ de share A took in de purceedin’s. Dis is w’at A done: de odder t’ree comp’nies was squattin’ down a-top o’ de t’ree little hills, an’ A was shooken out in a skirmish line, down ’long by de bridge, to make it unhealt’y for de furriners w’en dey come promenadin’ ahead to cross de river.

“Major Pollard, he comes ridin’ down from de hills, an he says, ‘Cap’n Stearns,’ says he, ‘w’en you’re drove back from dis position, youse’ll fall back down de road here, an’ take y’r command into de cover o’ de woods on our right flank dere,’ pointin’ at it wid his sword. ‘Dat’s a strong position,’ says he, ‘an’ de div’l himself couldn’t drive yer out’n it if dis was really bizness. By doin’ dis youse’ll purtec’ our flank from bein’ turned, an’ at de same time’ll uncover de front of us, so’s dat we c’n play fire-works wid de enermy’s advance. See?’ An’ de cap’n said he seen, an’ later he done so.” Here Larry armed himself with the long, tapering pointer, and then proceeded with his narrative. “W’en I come up to reenforce de comp’ny, de enermy was jus’ marchin’ down to shove us away from de bridge. It was a dandy sight! De two battalions looked bigger’n brigades, an’ de colors was wavin’, an’—” here Larry was caught by a sudden inspiration—“an de colonel was lookin’ elegant, on a big, white hoss, an’—” with a second inspired utterance—“de newspaper men was hustlin’ ’roun’ an’ gettin’ on to everyt’ing!”

This bit of spirited description was most favorably received. The personages mentioned bowed their acknowledgments, while Langforth and Woodleigh and the adjutant applauded generously, and shouted in chorus, “Hear! Hear!”

“I’d make me oat’,” said Major Larry, thus encouraged, “dat dis is de bes’ regiment in de State. W’y, de odder regiments isn’t got no use at all for us! Dey isn’t in it wid us, an’ anybody wid bot’ eyes shut c’d tumble to dat. See?”

“You’re not disputed, Major Callahan,” said the colonel, clasping his hands across his chest. “Proceed with your report.” “Well, de enermy kep’ moggin’ along down to de river,” said the boy obediently, “an’ w’en dey was gettin’ good an’ handy de cap’n assembled de comp’ny, an’ sung out, ‘Now youse’ll all set y’r sights at t’ree hunderd, an’ every popper’s boy of youse must take aim careful. For de nex’ act on de programme,’ says he, ‘is goin’ to be a volley exercuted by de full strengt’ of all de artists in de troupe.’”

“Hold up for a minute, Larry,” broke in the colonel, when this truly remarkable order was quoted. “Were those Captain Stearns’ exact words?”

“Well, no-o, sir,” admitted Major Larry. “P’raps dat aint jus’ w’at he said, but it’s w’at he was gettin’ at, anyhow. He ’xplained to ’em dat if ’twas truly fightin’, ’stead o’ bein’ de imitation, he’d keep ’em all under his t’umb, an’ not let ’em give no exhibition of a lead shower-bat’, by squirtin’ bullets all over de lan’scape at deir own sweet conveniences. In odder words, he give ’em to understan’ dat, w’en it come to firin’ by comp’ny, w’at he said went!”

“Perfectly proper,” said the colonel, who is a thorough believer in the virtues of controlled fire. “Perfectly proper. I noticed that Stearns handled his practice very well when he was at the bridge.”

“We done t’ree or four volleys,” continued Larry, “but it was sort o’ discouragin’ bizness, ’cause we didn’t seem to see no corpses carted off, an’ all we could do didn’t seem like it was hurtin’ de enermy’s feelin’s much. So w’en dey kep’ gettin’ closer an’ closer, we seen dat dey was boun’ to waltz over de bridge, spite of us, an’ de cap’n come to de conclusion dat he’d done all dat a brave man could to stan’ ’em off. W’ich bein’ so, he marched de comp’ny off an’ fell back down de road, leavin’ de premises clear for de t’ree comp’nies on de hills to show w’at dey was good for.

“Well, we was marched down de road, an’ formed up in line among de trees, where it was cool an’ shady. An’ den we got de chance to see sights. De attackin’ battalions come swarmin’ over dat bridge like a big mob o’ de unemployed, an’ begun to push forward for de hills, an’ de rifles started goin’ poppety-poppety-pop! An’ dere we was sittin’ like an audyence in de gallery, takin’ in de whole show for nuttin’. But we wasn’t quite out of it, for all of a sudd’n de cap’n says, ‘Here’s w’ere we wipes out dat fool flank comp’ny!’ An’ wid dat he has us plug a volley square into ’em.

“Now, dat was like yellin’ ‘Rats!’ in t’rough de door of a Chinee laundry! O’ course dey wasn’t nobody killed by dat volley, ’cause de odder fellies was too far off to be hit by de wads. But de effec’ was queer, an’ youse c’n bet y’r sweet natyral dat was de size of it!

“K was de comp’ny dat happened to be on dat flank, an’ w’en we plunked dat volley at ’em dey seemed like dey was excited. I guess dey t’ought we was gettin’ too funny wid ’m, for dey swung back so’s to be facin’ our way, an’ den begun poppin’ at us for all dey was wort’.

“But dat never fazed us, ’cause we knew dat deir rifles didn’t have no slugs in ’em, an’ dat we was pretty well out o’ sight amongst de trees. An’ besides all dat, we also was aware dat de fellies in K couldn’t shoot well enough to hit a mountain if ’twas pushed up to ’em on rollers. Huh! most o’ de men in K handles deir rifles like dey was crowbars, an’ a flock of elerphants flyin’ low c’d sail over deir heads widout no occasion for worryin’!” This was taking a mean advantage. Larry had a personal grievance against K Company, and sought revenge by improving the opportunity to slander that command in his report.

“Now, after t’ings had be’n goin’ on in dis way for a little w’ile,” continued Larry, “I seen a chance to tally one for our side. W’at I mean is dis—Say, d’youse know Hickey, dat big, fat-headed corp’ral in K?”

The colonel was compelled to disclaim the acquaintance of any such person. The adjutant, however, whose knowledge of the regimental personnel was necessarily more extended, came to time promptly with an affirmative nod.

“Well, he’s a dam’ chump!” said Larry, with emphasis. “Oh, ’xcuse me!” he hastily added, as it dawned upon him that his language had been a trifle unparliamentary; “I didn’t mean to say jus’ dat. But he’s a reg’lar galvanized gazaboo, an’ nuttin’ else. See? Him an’ his gang had fun wid me, one night last camp, tossin’ me in a blanket, an’ I’ve be’n layin’ low for’m ever since dat. I’m like an Injun—‘I never forgets de face of a foe!’” This evidently was a quotation from some modern master-piece of literature, and Larry delivered it most impressively.

“But dis aint tellin’ w’at I seen.” Here the boy picked up the chalk, and made a few additional marks upon the map of the battle-ground. “It was like dis,” said he, stepping back a pace and resting one hand easily upon his hip, while he gracefully wielded the pointer with the other; “de fellies in K was in plain sight, out in de sun, an’ I was here, ’way down at de right o’ de line. See?” He indicated his own position by means of the pointer. “Dey was a tree dere, growin’ out’n a crack in a big rock, an’ I was camped down behin’ de whole bizness, blazin’ away for glory, an’ makin’ every shot tell, w’en I seen—”

“Eh?” said the colonel. “What’s that? What were you doing with a rifle?”

“Shootin’, sir,” said Larry briefly.

“Yes, so it would appear,” said the colonel. “But how came you to be armed?”

“W’y, Smit’y de Invalid—he’s de felly, y’know, dat’s always tryin’ to sneak off from doin’ any duty—he’d tol’ me dat he wasn’t feelin’ jus’ well, an’ I’d tooken his rifle to hold for’m w’ile he went off huntin’ for a drink o’ cold water. He didn’t give me no ca’tridges, but I’d jollied de boys out’n a pocketful, an’ had organized meself into a Mosby gorilla. De cap’n, o’ course, he didn’t know nuttin’ ‘bout all dis, or he’d a-be’n wild. Dat’s de reason I was ‘way off dere to de right—to keep out’n de cap’n’s way. See?”

The colonel silently nodded. Apparently he “saw.” Major Larry, having given this satisfactory explanation of matters, resumed the delivery of his interrupted report.

“I tol’ yer dat I seen a promisin’ openin’ for stratergy,” he said; “an’ dis was it: me bein’ off to de right of A brought me facin’ de lef flank o’ K, an’ who should I discover opposite o’ me but dat same Hickey! Now, seein’ Hickey so convenient set me to t’inkin’.

“‘Hickey, me ol’ sporty,’ says I to meself, ‘I’m on y’r trail. Youse once had fun, heaps o’ fun, a-joshin’ me,’ says I, ‘but dis is de time I’m comin’ back at you,’ says I. ‘Dat’s de kind of a Reuben dat I am,’ says I. An’ wid dat I fired two blank ca’tridges at’m, aimin’ careful at his stummick, so’s to ease me min’. Den I hid me rifle in de scrub, so’s de cap’n wouldn’t see me wid it, an’ slid along back to de nearest boys on de right of A.

“Big Jonesey was dere, an’ McKenzie, an’ Schultz—all of ’em aimin’ an’ firin’ like dey was expectin’ to put medals onto deir dress-coats t’icker’n de scales on a fish. Dere wasn’t an officer widin hearin’, bot’ de lieutenants bein’ off to de centre consultin’ ‘bout somet’in’ wid de cap’n. W’ich was lucky.

“‘Whis-st, boys!’ says I careful, wavin’ me arm ’round me head to signal ’em to rally up to me. Dey seen dat I meant somet’in’, an’ closed up to-wards me. ‘Sa-ay, youse t’ink you’re doin’ fancy work, a-shootin’ holes in nuttin’, doesn’t youse?’ says I, w’en dey’d assembled on me. ‘Well, if youse’ll quit y’r foolishness an’ foller me,’ I says, ‘youse’ll wear di’mon’s. Come on lively, ’fore de lieutenant gets back to miss yer,’ says I.

“Well, dey gives me a look, an’ den dey looks back t’wards de comp’ny an’ sees dat de chances is dat dey’ll not be missed for a little w’ile, an’ den de four of us takes a quiet sneak off t’rough de shrubb’ry.

“‘Now jus’ listen to me w’ile I gurgle,’ I says, w’en we’d got to de place w’ere me rifle was hid. ‘D’youse see dat phernomenum out dere in de horizon? Well, dat bird o’ paradise,’ I says, ‘is Hickey, Corp’ral Hickey, o’ K Comp’ny.’

“‘I want to know if it is!’ says Jonesey. ‘An’ have youse pulled us out here to give us dat important information! I’m t’inkin’ o’ breakin’ y’r back, Larry,’ says he, ‘an’ I would, too, if ’twasn’t for losin’ yer de job o’ luggin’ de big drum.’

“‘Is dat so?’ says I, dodgin’ a swipe he made at me head. ‘S’posin’ youse wait for me to get t’rough! I’m not talkin’ to fill up no fonygraft; I’m talkin’ war.’

“‘Leaf’m alone,’ says Schultz, ‘an’ see vat he hass upon dot gr-reat mindt off his.’ An’ Jonesey, he lef’ me alone.

“‘Yes, dat’s Corp’ral Hickey,’ says I, indicatin’ me objective again wid me rifle. ‘I know’m easy by de size of his ears. An’ if youse fellies isn’t all stiffs, we c’n capture him alive. W’at d’youse say?’ I says. ‘Are youse mugs wid me, or agin me?’

“McKenzie allowed dat ’twould be sport if we could scoop in Hickey, an’ Schultz was agreeable to de scheme, so den I ’xplained w’at I wanted ’em to do, an’ we started in on de conspiracy. An’ all dis time, mind youse, de battle was goin’ on hot an’ heavy. But we wasn’t mindin’ nobody’s funeral ’ceptin’ ours—an’ I was de undertaker!

“Dis is w’at I done wid de boys: I posted ’em behin’ bushes an’ trees, right up close to de edge o’ de woods, but so far from w’ere de flank of A lain dat nobody ever’d catch on to deir bein’ dere. An’ den I give me rifle to McKenzie, an’ strolled out into de field an’ over ’cross t’wards de lef’ o’ K.

“Wen I got widin ’bout fifty yards o’ Mister Hickey, bein’ kind o’ quarterin’n a’ off to one side of’m, I sings out an’ says ‘Does yoore face pa-ain youse, Hickey?’ I says. ‘I notices dat it kind o’ gets twisted out o’ shape in aimin’. By de way youse wrinkles up dat lef eye I should t’ink dat one o’ y’r lights was went out,’ I says. Dat seemed to catch de boys in Hickey’s squad, an’ dey give’m de gran’ laff.

“‘Go chase yerself off’n de field, Larry,’ says Hickey, answerin’ me back. ‘Dis aint no place for kids. ’Tisn’t safe for youse ’round w’ere I am. I’m feelin’ dryer’n a covered bridge, an’ ’twouldn’t take much to make me catch yer an’ drink y’r blood.’ “‘Ya-as, yer would!’ says I, t’umbin’ me nose to’m. ‘Catch nawthin’! Youse couldn’t catch a cooky at a cake-walk!’

“‘I’ll give yer jus’ t’irty secon’s to clear out in,’ says Hickey, gettin’ kind o’ looney, ’cause de squad was snickerin’ again, ‘an’ if y’aint disappeared by dat time, I’ll collar yer, an’ roll yer up into a small an’ bloody bundle, an’ stuff yer inter me haversack for safe keepin’.’

“‘Huh! w’at youse say cuts no ice wid me!’ says I, scornful. ‘It’s clean nutty dat youse are. See? Holdin’ down a slab in de morgue’s all youse c’n do graceful. Sure!’

“Dat was jus’ a little bit more’n Hickey was prepared to stan’. ‘Here, hang on to me rifle,’ says he, handin’ it over to de neares’ man o’ de squad, ‘an’ watch me capture de firs’ prisoner o’ de campaign.’ An’ wid dat he gives a proud leer, an’ makes a break for me.

“‘Some o’ youse hol’ de watch on us,’ I sings out. ‘Dis is for de amachoor sprintin’ rekid!’ An’ off I starts for de brush, towin’ me victim along behin’ me.

“Oh, ’twas hot stuff! At firs’ I was ’fraid dat some of his officers would catch onto’m an’ call’m back; but de smoke was driftin’ off our way, an’ we was travellin’ away from de flank o’ de battalion, an’ so nobody paid no ’tention to us ’cept a few o’ de boys down at dat end.

“Well, I kep’ humpin’ for all I was wort’, an’ Hickey, he was after me for all he was wort’, an’ fin’lly we strikes cover at ’bout de same time. I makes a flyin’ dive inter de bushes, like a rabbit wid de shakin’ jim-jams, an’ Hickey shoots’mself in after me—an’ lands up against de muzzle o’ Jonesey’s rifle!”

“‘Halt!’ sings out Jonesey, ‘an’ surrender, you red-handed cut-t’roat!’ An’ Hickey halts—prompt, too. But ‘stead o’ surrenderin’, he turned an’ started to take a travel back for de open. An’ jus’ den Schultz, he rose up out’n de eart’ on de one side of’m, an’ McKenzie, he surrounded ’m on de odder side, an’ den poor Hickey seen dat his goose was cooked.

“‘T’row’m down, boys,’ I says. An’ dey t’run’m down, an’ de place w’ere dey happened to t’run’m was boggy, so’s dat w’en he rose up he looked like he hadn’t shooken hands wid a piece o’ soap for more’n a mont’.

“‘Boys, it’s me sorrerful dooty,’ I says, ‘to tell yer dat Hickey’s drinkin’ again.’ An’ den I tol’m w’at he’d said ’bout capturin’ me an’ drinkin’ me blood. An’ dey was astonished an’ shocked.

“‘Is dis civerlized war?’ says McKenzie, glarin’ at de pris’ner. ‘You’re worse dan a Dahomey cannib’l—scarin’ de life out’n dis innercent child! Shall we give ’m quarter?’ he says, turnin’ to de odder fellies.

“‘I’ve got a few t’ousand in me clodes,’ I says, like I was considerin’, ‘but I aint got no quarter for him. Away wid ’m!’ I says.

“‘Dammit!’ says Hickey, growin’ excited, ‘can’t youse quit y’r foolin’? I mus’ be gettin’ back to de comp’ny or I’ll be losin’ me stripes!’

“‘Hear de hardened vilyun cursin’ w’en deat’ stares’m in de eye!’ says McKenzie, holdin’ up his hands wid horror. ‘Oh, Hickey, Hickey, you’re in danger o’ losin’ de number o’ y’r mess—den w’y worry ’bout a little t’ing like a pair o’ miser’ble corp’ral’s stripes?’

“‘Boys,’ I says, ‘I pity dis poor mug. S’posin’ we fin’ out how he’s feelin’ ’bout dis time?’ An’ I turned t’wards de pris’ner. ‘Hickey,’ I says, ‘are youse ever goin’ to preside over anodder blanket-tossin’ convention—I mean, one wid me in it?’ An’ he swore dat he hones’ wouldn’t.

“‘Higky,’ asks Schultz, ‘vill you dot pecos off dis affair dere shall no hart veelin’ pe?’ An’ Hickey said dat dere shouldn’t.

“‘Hickey,’ says McKenzie, w’en it come his turn at de bat, ‘if you’re lucky ’nough to come out alive at de end o’ dis awful day o’ strife will youse remember dat odder people ’sides y’rself has t’roats—w’ich needs occasional wettin’?’ An’ Hickey give his word dat he’d set ’em up for de crowd w’en we got back to town.

“‘Dis all bein’ so,’ says Jonesey, ‘an’ no objection bein’ made, we’ll spare y’r wort’less life. But we’re under oat’ to do our full duty by de Commonwealt’ for a term o’ t’ree years, an’ so we can’t let yer go. Private McKenzie on de right, Private Schultz on de lef’, de pris’ner betwixt youse—fall in!’ says he. An’ dey fell in, an’ started back t’wards de comp’ny, wid Hickey a-kickin’ himself for a t’underin’ jackuss, an’ me a-follerin’, t’umpin’ meself wid joy.

“Well, we comes back to de comp’ny, an’ I makes a break for de head o’ de percession—’cause ’twas my entertainment, y’ know—an’ w’en de fellies sees us marchin’ up, dey sets up a yell, for dey all knows Hickey. An’ w’en we gets to de cap’n I salutes an’ says, ‘Cap’n, here’s a spy,’ I says. ‘W’at’ll we do wid’m?’

“Cap’n Stearns, he looked Hickey all over, an’ seen de dirt on’m, an’ says, ‘Whew! he looks like he’d be’n huntin’ for trouble an’ foun’ it! Are dey diggin’ a mine under us, or w’at? Take’m away,’ he says, ‘an’ play de hose on’m an’ don’t bodder me wid’m.’ An’ he had to laff.

“But he didn’t get no time for a real good laff, ’cause jus’ den de enermy begun to charge us, an’ he had his han’s full keepin’ de boys from fightin’ in earnest. For our fellies wasn’t goin’ to let K walk on deir necks. But ’twas ’gainst orders for bayonets to be crossed, an’ so we played dat we was captured. But we wasn’t, all de same, for if’t had b’en really war we’d have kep’ a coroner’s jury busy for a week sortin’ out de remains o’ K.

“An’ dat, sir,” said Major Larry, facing towards the colonel with a final salute, “near’s I c’n remember, is w’at A done, two weeks ago yesterd’y, at de right o’ Major Pollard’s line o’ battle.” The colonel brought out a half-dollar. “Larry,” said he, handing it to the boy, “we all are greatly indebted to you for your excellent and most technical report. For my own part, I can truthfully say that I’ve learned a great deal about grand strategy. You are excused, with the thanks of all present.”

Larry left the room with the step of a grenadier. Rodman closed his note-book with a snap, saying softly, “That’ll be good for two columns.” There was an instant of awed silence. And then the colonel turned to the adjutant, and said, “Hereafter, Charley, there’ll be two reports made of anything that A may be concerned in—one written, and one oral. That’s a standing order. See?”

Rodman’s notes worked up to two columns and a half of the next day’s Globe, and for a second time Major Larry Callahan found himself locally famous. What Captain Tom Stearns said when his eye fell upon the marked copy of the paper which was thoughtfully mailed to him by the adjutant, is not upon record. But it is a fact that he has been more than prompt, of late, in the matter of forwarding required reports.