Trooper Tales — page 248: what you’re looking at

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

rage A Soldier and a Man. In the forward hold of the transport, a temporary hospital had been fitted up. Corporal Carey dragged himself thither twice daily during the remainder of the voyage. And so it was that one soldier gained respect for himself. But Trooper Arden was not understood. He ate less, slept less, and talked less than any other man in the troop. Six out of every eleven regular soldiers smoke cigarettes. Arden smoked more than any two men in the outfit. For supper he would invariably draw double rations of coffee. When taps sounded and the lights were ordered out, the cups untouched might be seen on ‘the box beside his bunk. At reveille in the morning the cups were still there, but they were empty. If you were in the same squad with Arden, and you happened to wake up in the middle of the night, you would be apt to see the face of the trooper glowing behind a cigarette. He never seemed tired, never missed a call, never complained, never swore—all of which was unsoldierly. He was lean, dark, and without fear. By his face you © would not know whether he had been a preacher or a gambler before his enlistment. He was nervous, but not irritable; reserved, but not impolite; educated, but a good fellow still. On pay-days he gambled. He lost cheer- fully, but seldom. He won carelessly. He drank, but — you would never know it unless you happened to see him. Arden was a mystery—a mystery with a grudge against himself. Perhaps it was his other life that made him so. (COMMIC OO KS.)