Uncle Sam's Boys with Pershing's Troops Part 2

"How so?" demanded Noll Terry, Prescott's first lieutenant.

"He knows us for a bunch of shirkers, and so he gave us the 'pep'

talk this morning."

"Is the 'pep' going to work with you?" asked Noll laughingly.

"Surely! I wouldn't dare be slow, even in drawing my breath, after hearing the K.O. talk in that fashion."

"Same here," Noll nodded.

"I've been working sixteen hours a day ever since I hit camp," chimed in another lieutenant. "What's the new system going to be? Eighteen hours a day?"

"Twenty, perhaps," said Greg's first lieutenant cheerfully.

The meal had been under way for fifteen minutes when Captain Cartwright entered leisurely.

"I suppose you fellows have eaten all the best stuff," he called, as he looked about and found a vacant seat, though he paused as if in no great haste to occupy it.

"Same old Cartwright," observed Greg, in an undertone to d.i.c.k.

"He's late, even at mess formation."

But Cartwright heard, and wheeled about, looking half-angrily at young Captain Holmes.

"Say, Holmes, you're as free as ever with your tongue."

"Yes," Greg answered unconcernedly. "Using it to taste my food, and I've been finding the taste uncommonly pleasant."

"You use your tongue in more ways than that," snapped Captain Cartwright. "I happened to hear what you said about me in Prescott's room a few minutes ago."

"Eavesdropping?" queried Greg calmly.

"What's that?" snapped Cartwright, and his flush deepened. "See here, Holmes, I don't want any trouble with you."

"That shows a lively sense of discretion," smiled Greg, turning to face the other.

"But I want you to stop picking on me. Talk about somebody else for a change!"

"With pleasure," nodded Greg, as he shrugged his shoulders and turned to drop a spoonful of sugar in his second cup of coffee.

"There are lots of agreeable subjects for conversation in Camp Berry."

"Meaning---?" demanded Cartwright, still standing, and scowling, for, out of the corners of his eyes, he saw that several of his brother officers were smiling.

"Meaning almost anything that you wish," continued Captain Holmes, serenely, as he stirred his coffee.

"Sit down, Cartwright," urged a low voice. "This is a gentleman's outfit," declared another voice, perhaps not intended to reach Cartwright's ears. But he heard the words and his mounting rage caused him to take a step nearer to Greg, at the same time clenching his fists.

Greg, though he realized what was taking place, did not bother to turn, but coolly raised his cup to his lips.

"Sit down," called another voice. "You're rocking the boat."

But Cartwright took a second step. It is impossible to say what would have happened, but d.i.c.k Prescott, half turning in his seat, caught the angry captain's nearer wrist in a grip of steel and fairly sw.a.n.g Cartwright into a vacant seat at his left. Greg was sitting at his right.

"Don't be foolish, Cartwright, and don't let the day's heat go to your head," Prescott advised. "Don't do anything you'd regret."

Though Captain Cartwright's blood was boiling there was a sense of quiet mastery in Prescott's manner and voice, combined with a quality of leadership that restrained the angry man for the next few seconds, during which d.i.c.k turned to a waiter to say:

"This meat is cold. Bring some hot meat for Captain Cartwright, and more vegetables. Try some of this salad, Cartwright---it's good."

Instantly the officers, looking eagerly on, turned their glances away and began general conversation again, for they were quick to see that d.i.c.k's usual tact was at least postponing a quarrel.

"It will be a hot afternoon for drill, won't it?" d.i.c.k asked, in the next breath, and in a low tone.

"Maybe," grunted Cartwright. "But perhaps I shall find still hotter work before the drill-call sounds."

"Nonsense!" said d.i.c.k quickly. "After the K.O.'s talk this morning, don't start anything that will take our mind off our work."

"I've got to have a bit more than an explanation from Holmes,"

the sulky captain continued, though in a low voice.

"Cartwright," said d.i.c.k, in an authoritative undertone, "I don't want you to start anything in that direction until you've had a good talk with me!"

There the matter ended for the moment. d.i.c.k joined in the general conversation. Presently Cartwright tried to, but the officers to whom he addressed his remarks replied either so briefly or so coolly that the captain realized that he was not popular at the present time.

"Holmes will make trouble for any one who doesn't toady to him,"

thought Captain Cartwright moodily. "I can see that I've got to make it my business to take the conceit and arrogance out of him."

At almost the same moment, over in a company barracks, Sergeant Mock, as he chewed his food gloomily, was reflecting:

"So Captain Holmes will call me down before a lot of officers, will he? He'll order me to show more 'pep,' will he, the slave-driver? And if I don't he'll break me, eh?"

"Breaking" a non-commissioned officer is securing his reduction to the grade of private.

"The captain is so lazy himself that he doesn't know a good man when he sees one," Mock told himself angrily.

Then he added, threateningly to himself:

"He'd better not try it. If he does, he'll sure wish he hadn't.

Since this war began even the officers are only on probation, and I've brains enough to find a way to put him in bad with the regimental K.O."

"What's the matter, Mock, don't you like your food?" asked the sergeant seated at his left. "You're scowling something fierce."

"It isn't the chow," Sergeant Mock retorted gruffly.

"Must be the heat, then---or a call-down," observed his brother sergeant.

"Never you mind!" retorted Mock. "And I'm not talking much now; I want to think."

"Must have been a real 'cussing-out' that you got," grinned the other sergeant unconcernedly.