Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

536 pause or rest. A corporal, carrying a swag- ger stick, led them on their interminable march and a grim sergeant-major, very erect in the center of the square, watched them to see that the step didn’t lag. “ What’s them guys drillin’ for?” asked Tuesday, curiously. The trained “sweat,” speculatively counting some coppers preparatory to ad- joining to the canteen, winked a watery eye. “ Pack drills. You’ll learn more about them some day. They come easy an’ they goes hard—two hours with a sixty-pound blurry pack an’ a wet shirt on your back. Them’s just ‘ defaulters ’—blokes wot made a mistake at drill or forgot to clean their ears for inspection. They’s worse punish- ments nor that ’anded out ’ere. Pack drills is nothin’—if you got a strong ’eart an’ a good constitution. They ’elps to ’arden a chap for the war.” “Suppose you can’t stand the gaff?” Harmon objected. ‘It isn’t fair—” “Tf you break down they put you on easy jobs—cleanin’ sewers an’ peelin’ spuds in cook house an’ the like. Unless you can work your ticket with the medical officer. I remember a chap—soft, easy-spoken chap ’e was, too—came in ’ere in peace time an’ acted balmy. “ Every time ’e was on parade—colonel an’ band an’ all—this chap would jump outa line an’ pick papers up from the ground. Said ’e couldn’t bear to see papers blowed about. They couldn’t break ’im of the ’abit. Clean off ’is perch, the medi- cal officer sez, an’ gives ’im ’is discharge ticket. “When ’e passes out the gate the ser- geant of the guard thinks to ’ave a bit of fun an’ sez to him: ‘ There y’are, Whitey, you passed by a piece of paper.’ Whitey only smiles kinda quiet an’ shows him the discharge they give ‘im. ‘ Pick it up your- self, sergeant,’ he sez, ‘ and my compliments to the colonel. This is the only piece of paper I’ve been lookin’ for.’ ” “ An’ he was no more balmy than I am, s’help me,” he concluded. “ But don’t you go tryin’ to work your ticket that way. They’ve fluffed to that game. Now, you lads, get ready and soap the insides of your socks to save your feet. You’ve got a bit ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. of a route march to-morrow—twenty blurry miles or so.” CHAPTER XII. CONCERNING BUMBLE AND BUCK. O, day by day, the hardening process went on. Harmon learned to stand the heat and hardship of the drill ground, learned to obey promptly, to keep his mouth shut tightly and his eyes to the front, learned the art of handling the old-fashioned Lee- Metford rifle, with which recruits were equipped, learned to stand guard at the barrack gate in driving rain or through chilly nights without taking refuge in the sentry box, learned to take his pack drills and punishments as part of the day’s work, learned that a man can keep his self-respect in spite of the tongue lashings of drill ser- geants and keep his mind and heart clean in spite of the drunkenness of the canteen and the blasphemy of the barracks. One day was like another, and all spelled work and physical weariness at night and a dreamless sleep on the hard cot until the bugles blew on the square for reveille. Squad drill, rifle drill, Swedish drill, pa- rades, inspections, and lectures followed one another in endless routine. On Saturday mornings the recruits sweated with brush and bath brick and soap suds to make the floors and benches and tables of the hut snow-white for inspection. On Sunday mornings bugles sounded for church parade and every one lined up in his special re- ligious group to be marched off by beat of drum to the chapel of his denomination. Harmon, belonging to no particular sect, was entered as Church of England and filed in with the majority into the barrack chapel to attend the service conducted by the chaplain—irreverently known to the rank and file as “ Creeping Jimmy.” But, out- side of that compulsory manifestation, re- ligion did not bulk largely in the lives of the L. L. I.’s. Tuesday, hoping to avoid church service, claimed to belong to a rare sect known as the “ Straight Flushers,” even going to the extent of singing a snatch of hymn to prove Gomichbooks (E@)