Shelled by an Unseen Foe Part 1

Sh.e.l.led by an Unseen Foe.

by James Fiske.

CHAPTER I

THE CALL OF HOME

Reveille was over at the military school, and the three boys on the end of the line nearest the mess hall walked slowly toward the broad steps of the big brick building ahead. They differed greatly in type, but of this they were unconscious, for all were deep in thought.

"I am going home," said the tallest boy abruptly. "Had a letter from my sister last night. My word, they are having some ripping times over there!"

"Your father won't let you," said the second lad. "How can _you_ go to England when _I_ can't get back to Mexico?"

"I can jolly well go," said the tall boy. "I've been planning for this. Mid-term is over, and I haven't told you chaps, but I've been h.o.a.rding every cent of my allowance all winter. I have enough and to spare for second cabin."

"But your father wants you here out of harm's way," urged the Mexican.

"He _thinks_ he does," said Nickell-Wheelerson smiling, his blue eyes flashing. "He _thinks_ he does, but I know he is just trying me out.

Here's the way it is. Dad's in the field and my second brother; you know my oldest brother was shot in the trenches in France two months ago. I'm nineteen. There are two little chaps to carry on the name and take care of the t.i.tle, if the rest of us go. I've just _got_ to get over there! Don't you see how it is?"

"Of course!" said the Mexican, his dark eyes glowing gloomily. "Of course you feel you've got to go! And here I must stay. I want to go home too."

"It's different with you," said Nickell-Wheelerson, patting his companion on the back. "You keep out of that mess! Mexico is going to need you worse later on."

"How about you?" demanded Morales, the Mexican. "I should think England would need you when that mess, as you call it, is finished."

"She needs me now, and I know it, and dad knows it," Nick a.s.sured him.

"I'm going _home_! You'd better be glad you are not mixed up in this thing," he said, turning to the third boy. "You are safe awhile yet, you old Greece-spot, you!"

"There are some Greeks fighting; a few on the European border of the Dardanelles," said the boy addressed.

"Oh, of course you will get into it sooner or later," said Nick, "but I'm banking on that queen of yours to stall things along as far as she can. She can't put it off forever, though. You will be in it."

"As sure as my name is Zaidos," said the young Greek, "you are quite right! We will have to fight sooner or later."

"Well, don't cross bridges," said Nick. "Sit tight, and I'll go over there and help clean up things."

Light-heartedly they raced up the steep hill leading from the parade ground to the mess hall.

A slim young orderly came out of the Adjutant's office onto the terrace and looked about. Seeing the three boys, he called in a high, clear voice, "Oh, you Nosey!" and as the Greek approached added formally, "Corporal Zaidos is wanted by the Adjutant."

"What's he going to get ragged for now, I wonder," mused Nickell-Wheelerson as he and Morales joined the crowd and went into the mess hall.

Zaidos did not come back. Nick watched the door anxiously. They were room-mates, and Nick was well aware of Nosey's tendencies in the way of breaking minor rules. As soon as he could get out of the mess, he hurried down past the Adjutant's office, and hastily framing an errand, went in. The room was empty.

Nick hurried over to the barracks to their room. Sitting on the side of his narrow bunk, his hands clenched, his face white, was Zaidos.

"What's the row, old top?" Nick sang out cheerfully as he made a great pretense of picking up his books and stuffing a couple of pencils in the top of his pigskin puttee.

The young Greek shook his head, and Nick realized that it was something indeed very serious with him.

"What _is_ the row, old man?" he said again, coming over and sitting beside his friend. "What has the Adjutant got in for you this time?"

"Nothing," said Zaidos. "He had a cablegram from home. It is pretty bad, Nick . . ." He paused. "My father is sick; fact is, he is dying; and I've got to leave to-night."

"Gosh!" exclaimed Nick. "That's too bad! I'm more than sorry!"

"Yes, it's bad," said Zaidos. "And the queer thing is that I don't seem to feel as sorry about my father dying as I do to think that I don't _know_ him any better. Think of it, Nick, I came over here to school when I was not quite seven. My mother died when I was six, and since that I have seen my father twice; once when he came over here, and the year I went home. And it is not as though there was not plenty of money. I suppose my father is the richest man, or one of the richest men, in Greece. He's just--Oh, I don't know! He never seemed to be like a lot of fathers I have seen. I never could get _next_ to him. And I've been pretty lonely most all my life. I have always planned to go back as soon as I finished school, and get acquainted with my father. I thought if I tried, I could make him like me. I suppose he does well enough, but I wanted to be chummy with him. I thought I could if I tried."

"You bet you could, Nosey!" said Nick, an arm over the bowed shoulder beside him. "You could warm up a wooden Indian, you old live-wire, you! I jolly well know you! You would get under the crust if anyone could! Perhaps it isn't as bad as they think. You go home, and perhaps your father will get better, and you will get to be the best chums in the world. Cheer up, old chap! It will come out all right.

Do you really go tonight?"

"Yes, I go to-night. They have got my tickets, and now they are telephoning for my pa.s.sage."

Nickell-Wheelerson sat thinking hard. Then he rose and bolted for the door.

"Wait!" called Zaidos. "I want you to help me pack, Nick."

But the big English boy had disappeared. In half an hour he returned, looking triumphant. He flung his trim military jacket on the bunk.

"That's done for!" he cried. He jerked a trunk into the middle of the floor and, opening it, commenced to turn out its cluttered contents.

"Come on, Nosey!" he cried. "As our American brothers put it, 'get a move on!' We have about half a day to get packed."

"Are you crazy?" demanded the Greek, staring at him.

"Not crazy, Nosey, dear chappie! Not crazy; merely going home!"

"Home?" repeated Zaidos feebly. "_Home?_"

"Home!" said Nick jubilantly. "With you! At least on the same steamer. So if they blow us up on the way over, we can soar hand in hand, old chum!"

"Well, when you get through raving, I wish you would tell how you did it."

"I simply reminded the Adjutant that the arrangement was that I was remaining here at my own discretion, as per Pater's written agreement.

I said I had decided to go with you, although I had been thinking for a week that I might leave at any time. They mentioned money, and I showed my little roll. There is plenty. So I am going to-night with you. They have telephoned about a stateroom. That's all! I'm going to give all my stuff away. I won't come back."

_Nickell-Wheelerson never did come back. But that is another story._

There were a lot of poor marks made that afternoon. With the two most popular fellows in the school going off, there couldn't be much studying. Everybody tried to help, and everybody got in the way and had to be stepped over or pushed over. But time pa.s.sed, and good-byes were said, and the night on the swift train pa.s.sed, too; and when they looked back, the following day in New York was a hurried whirl. And then they smelt the unchanging smell of the docks; sea salt and paint and tar.

They watched the last person down the gang-plank, a weeping woman it was. Then they shouted farewell to the kindly sh.o.r.es, and the steadfast Lady of Liberty on Governor's Island. She seemed to salute the pa.s.sing ship with her uplifted torch, and the boys felt that peace and safety and prosperity lay behind them.

Then some nights and days went swiftly by, and one morning the boys clasped hands and gruffly spoke their farewells. Nickell-Wheelerson went home to find that his older brother slept in a lowly grave somewhere in France. His father, dead of his wounds, lay in the castle hall, and the boy Nick answered wearily when sorrowing footmen called him "My Lord."

_But that is really the beginning of the other story_.

Zaidos hurried on his way alone, and one bright morning, after many adventures, stood once more in Saloniki.