Gordon Bates - The Khaki Boys at Camp Sterling; Or, Training for the Big Fight in France

“Good-bye, Roger.” Mrs. Blaise extended her hand. Obeying a motherly impulse she bent forward and kissed his cheek. “Be a good soldier boy. I know you’ll be a good friend to Jimmy.” Her blue eyes wandered affectionately to her son, who was gravely shaking hands with his father, his merry features grown momentarily sad.

“Don’t you worry about me, Mother.” Jimmy’s voice sounded a trifle husky. “I can take care of myself and Roger, too.”

Not ashamed to show his affection for his mother in public, Jimmy wrapped his strong young arms about her in a loving hug. “I’m going to be a regular angel Sammy,” he whispered. “I’m going to make you proud of me. Maybe by the time I come home for Thanksgiving I’ll be a general or something. I guess it’ll be ‘or something,’” he added with a half-hearted attempt at humor. “If I can get a pass to come and see you before then, you know I’ll do it. It’s only a few hours’ ride in the train from here to Camp Sterling. So cheer up, best Mother. I’ll be back driving Old Speedy around town again before you know it.”

For a little the two boys lingered there, then with the sound of fond, final farewells in their ears they climbed the steps of the rear car and were lost for an instant to view. Almost immediately a window on the side next the platform went up and two heads emerged therefrom. Far down the track the engine was already sending forth premonitory warnings. They were followed by the creaking jar of ponderous iron wheels about to be set to their work of separating the Khaki Boys from home.

By this time every window casing of the car framed boyish faces, peering eagerly out for a last exchange of looks and words with the home folks. As the train began to show signs of moving, a pretty girl, laden with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, now flung it straight toward a rear window of the car from which a soldier boy leaned far out, his eyes fixed upon her. His right arm shot out in a wild attempt to catch it. It fell short of his extended fingers by a bare inch or so and dropped. Quick as lightning a uniformed figure on the lowest step of the train’s rear platform sprang for it, fairly snatching it up as it was about to roll under the slowly revolving iron wheels. Pausing only to raise his cap to the thrower, the officer who had retrieved the flowers from destruction swung aboard the train and disappeared into the car. The next second the soldier for whom the bouquet had been intended was triumphantly waving it out the window.

The hearty cheering which had begun with the first shudder of the train increased to wild applause of the little act of gallantry. Inside the car the young volunteers were also voicing noisy appreciation. It was merely an incident, and yet it served to impress on those left behind the belief that the welfare of their boys was in good hands.

As the train continued to move slowly out of the long shed the cheering was kept up. This time it was for the Khaki Boys themselves. It met with an equally fervent response on their part, accompanied by a frantic waving of hands, hats and handkerchiefs. The Khaki Boys were started at last on the first stretch of the Glory Road.

“Did you see the way that officer grabbed those roses from under the wheels?” demanded Jimmy excitedly, as he and Roger settled back in their seats. The train had now left the shed behind and was steadily gathering momentum. “Pretty clever in him, wasn’t it?”

Roger nodded. “It showed that he was interested in us even if we are just rookies. I wonder how long it will take us to look as well in our uniforms as he does in his? What did you do with your Infantry Manual? We ought to be studying up a little while we’re on the way.”

Roger referred to the little blue books he and Jimmy had purchased at a department store soon after their enlistment. As he spoke he reached into a pocket of his coat and drew his own forth.

“Mine’s kicking around in my suitcase somewhere,” grinned Jimmy rather sheepishly. “I’ve been intending to study it, but I’ve had so many other things to do. Put it back. Don’t go to studying now. I want to talk to you. Time enough for us to get busy when we hit Camp Sterling. Maybe I didn’t hate to leave Old Speedy behind, though. Next to the folks comes Speedy and after that Buster, my brindle bull pup. That dog certainly knew I was going away for keeps when I said good-bye to him. But he won’t be neglected. Buster has lots of friends. Everybody on our street knows him. Next to me he likes Mother. She’ll take good care of him. But poor Old Speedy’ll have a lonesome time shut up in the garage. It’s such a giddy-looking machine you couldn’t hire the folks to ride half a block in it. But you can’t have everything, so what’s the use of worrying?”

His active mind leaping from the subject of his car back to the officer whose recent kindly act he had so sturdily commended, he continued irrelevantly: “Say, an officer that would do a thing like that ought to be good to his men. Don’t you think so? I’ve heard a lot of stuff about officers being regular cranks and jumping all over their men just for spite. Do you suppose it’s true?”

“No, I don’t,” Roger made emphatic return. “I don’t believe that part of it is much different in the Army from what it is in a shop or factory or an office. Only, of course, there has to be stricter discipline in the Army. I’ve worked in a good many different places and I’ve found out that the way you’re treated most always depends on the way you do your work. Of course, wherever you go you’re sure to meet some people you won’t like and who won’t like you. If you mind your own business and let ’em alone, generally they’ll let you alone.”

“But suppose they don’t? What then?”

“Well,” Roger looked reflective, “I never had that happen to me but once. It was when I worked in that shipping department. There was a boy about my size or maybe a little bigger who wouldn’t let me alone. He’d make mistakes and then lay them to me. At last I got sick of it and gave him a good licking. He let me alone after that. You couldn’t do that with an Army officer, though. You’d have to stand it and say nothing. Anyway, I don’t believe you’d find one officer in a thousand that wouldn’t treat you fairly. It’s just as much to them to have the respect of their men as it is to the men to have the good will of their officers.”

Unconsciously Roger had voiced the opinion that prevails from coast to coast among both commissioned and non-commissioned officers in the United States Service. The mistaken impression that those who have been placed in commands in the National Army are a brow-beating, bullying lot is fast passing. The Army officer of to-day respects himself too much to abuse his authority. He also values the good will of his men too greatly to abuse them. All this, however, the Khaki Boys were presently to learn for themselves.

“I guess your head’s level,” conceded Jimmy. “I’m glad you licked that shipping-room dub. I hate a sneak !”

The explosive utterance caused the heads of two young men in the seat in front of their own to turn simultaneously in Jimmy’s direction. One of them, a dark, thin-faced lad with twinkling black eyes and a wide, pleasant mouth, spoke. “Hope you didn’t mean me,” he offered good-humoredly. The other, stockily-built, his pale, stolid features bearing the unmistakable cast of the foreigner, stared at Jimmy out of round, china-blue eyes, with the unblinking gaze of an owl.

“Course not,” apologized Jimmy, reddening. “Why should I mean you?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.” The smiling lips widened to a broad grin. “You said it pretty loudly. It almost made me jump.”