Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

140 main road conducted by an old retired sol- dier, and so situated that the proprietor could see everything that took place on his side of the cemetery. “Say,” Gray burst in like Paul Revere spreading the alarm, ‘“‘there’s a new grave down there in the disgrace corner 2 “Ol’ Cart, chief trumpeter of the artil- lery outfit,’ said the proprietor. ‘Poor ol’ hoss. I sho’ felt declined to see him dropped down in sich a hole.” “When?” half-whispered Gray. I thought——”’ “About eight-thirty. Boys come up here for a drink afta they got through. Said they’d hurried up ’count of having to go out on the practise hike.” So it was over and there had been no Taps for the chief. Ch that you don’t ever need to worry about orders for they may be changed several times before you can obey them. A few days later the sergeant-major of the infantry regiment beckoned the drooping gray old trumpeter into the head- quarters building. When Gray reached his desk, the highest-ranking regimental non- com was beaming like a full moon. “Here, read this,” he said, shoving a printed sheet into Gray’s hands. ‘See what the judge advocate says about y’r old side- kick.” ‘Judge advocate!”’ barked Gray. And because of the sergeant-major’s beaming he knew something had happened about Cart. He trembled so that he could not read. The headquarters man snatched the paper back and himself read it, omitting, hitting the high places. ‘““*The findings of . . . owing to recom- mendations of the complaining officer . Colonel Malley ... in view of age and honorable service of the soldier . . . find- ings of court reversed and Chief Trumpter Cart is ordered restored to duty with all rights and pay.’ ” Old Gray was about to weep. ‘Get out o’ here!” thundered the ser- geant-major, to hide his own feclings. ‘“Malley himself wants to see ye. Report at once.”’ The gray bugler crossed the hall and knocked at the colonel’s door and entered at the brusk order of, ‘““Come!”’ “Oh,” said Malley pleasantly. “You had “Why, THERE’S a saying in the army Adventure a promise with Chief Cart, did you not, Chief, to sound Taps at his grave?”’ “Yes, sir.” “Sergeant-major tell you the news?” ‘Yes, sir.” ‘Then it may interest you to know that -orders have been given for the disinter- ment of Trumpeter Cart’s body tomorrow and for burial in another place with full military honors.” “Yes, sir.’ Gray had never been more forma] in all his military life. ‘I thank the colonel, sir, for—for @ Tears squirted from Gray’s eyes with the warm flush of a spring shower. Malley’s eyes were tripping hard too. “You’d better go, Chief,” he said, hardly above a whisper. ‘You be on hand to sound your Taps at ten tomorrow.” Chief Musician Gray, with his shiny bugle, repaired to the cemetery much earlier than duty required. From the gate he saw a new grave in the “honorable row” and with peace in his heart sat down on a bench to wait. Idly the old man got to trying the bugle limbering his lips, but his lips were dry and he decided to go to the saloon conducted by the retired soldier, only three or four blocks away, and get a drink to moisten them. Trudging through the hot sunshine to the saloon yet another idea came to him, something that seemed fine and beautiful. Finally at the bar he carried out the plan. “Two glasses, pleasc,”’ he ordered. He filled them both with whisky and for- getting that the bartender was watching with a curious stare he stood back po- litely as if Chief Cart were there and ges- tured to the glasses. Then he took up one for himself. “To the best bugler in the world, Chief,’ said he courteously. He was not down-hearted, his voice did not break, for tc his ears and eyes Cart was right there with him, and plainly he heard his old comrade say: ‘“*To the best bugler in the world.” He drank and set his glass down, cleared his throat —ahm-ahm. He wiped his mouth, laid money down for his bill, and started to go. “You’re leavin’ one of your glasses 0’ whusky,” said the bartender. “Youre missin’ the target,’ Gray re- plied coolly. “Old Chief Cart drunk that one.”’ micloool C© inn