Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

132 BILLET inspection was the order of things next morning. The Old Man and I got away early. As we left the chateau I told him of my midnight alarm. “Imagination,” he promptly declared. “All imagination! Look! They’re still there.” And he swung his hand in the direction of the island enclosure, where any number of ducks could be seen squatted on the snow. “Who could get at them anyway?” he argued. ‘‘Madame wanted those ducks in a safe place; she didn’t put them in the center of that pond for appearances merely.” I realized the truth of the Old Man’s statement. Who could get at them, I asked myself? The water was deep, and the weather was more suited to skating than swimming. The Old Man commenced to chuckle. “T can’t,” he said, “keep the good news any longer, Lewis. The birds are ours. Canning put it over as I said he would. And at one sitting, too. A fast little worker is Canning. Got in deep with the family, I believe, but trust him to wiggle out of any tangle.” The Old Man was in fine fettle. All the way to Caldwell’s company billets he whistled that Gaiety thing: ’ “Let us watch the ducks go by, For their morning walk, dear——” “And they'll be turned over to us this evening,” he stopped whistling long enough to tell me. ‘Then, heigho for a very merry Christmas. Eh, what?” We reached the barn, where we found Sleepy with a crowd of men around him. As we approached we heard him start throwing it into his troops. “T told you what would happen if I found any man of my company guilty of theft— of attempted theft even. Last night one of this company went into the chateau grounds; and for no good purpose either. I met up with that fellow and, as you may have noticed, got decidedly the worst of the argument. I know that man’s name. But, as he hasn’t admitted his guilt, all of you must suffer the consequences. To- morrow, Christmas Day, Don company will parade in battle order for a route march. The regular battalion dinner will be dis- pensed with.” Every one stood eying Sleepy. Sleepy’s Adventure face was scratched in a number of spots. His breeks were spotted and wrinkled and gave off an odor suspiciously like petrol. There was a long tear in one puttee. Not a murmur came from hismen. They, I thought, took their medicine gamely. Not a murmur came from the Old Man. Ap- parently the Old Man believed in letting Caldwell run his company as he saw fit. However, I was certain that Caldwell wouldn’t be running it much longer. Later I got hold of Sleepy. Together we walked down to his billet. I bawled him out: “Why didn’t you make a try for that leave warrant? You’ve let Canning get away with everything.” “Perhaps,” said Sleepy dreamily. “‘But I always trusted Santy Claus, and I haven’t given up hope yet. You never know, you know.” “All rot,” I scoffed. A voice hailed us. Canning, walking chirpily, bore down upon us. By and by the three of us halted in front of Sleepy’s billet. Over the door hung a sign from which wind and rain long since had washed most of the lettering. Canning had his eyes on the sign. “That’s an odd word!” he ejaculated. ‘‘What’s it mean?” I interpreted the sign but made no reply, for the door had swung open silently. A little old Frenchman, visibly agitated, hung in the doorway. “Non! Non! Nont Non!’ he chanted. “All right; calm yourself,’ rasped Can- ning. ‘‘We’re not coming in.” We moved away. Canning turned to me, saying: “Lord! You’d have thought that frog was trying to hide something—he was that nervous.” I smiled and said— “He did act kind of funny.” Looking back, I found Sleepy Caldwell still watching us. Division’s bombshell was nothing in com- parison to the surprize packet Madame Deuquet handed us two hours later. I guess I was the first to hear her coming. She came with a mad scamper of feet and little pig-like grunts which, to me, spelled trouble with a capital T. I got the Old Man out of his nap in time to take the brunt of her attack. What she, in her excited way, told the Old Man would make a book-length yarn. MICLOOO (©