CHAPTER IX
THE CROWNING INSULT
Realizing the soundness of Bob Dalton's counsel, his three friendsagreed to abide by it. Nevertheless, Jimmy was already firmly convincedthat he had Bixton to thank for the strange disappearance of hisletters. He did not hesitate to reiterate the statement to his chums.Iggy solemnly supported the theory out of pure devotion to Jimmy. Boband Roger refused to commit themselves, thought privately they were ofthe same opinion that suspicion pointed strongly in Bixton's direction.Both knew only too well that it needed but a word from them to sethot-headed Jimmy Blazes on the trail of the disagreeable rookie with avengeance, a proceeding which, as Bob had sagely pointed out, would benot only futile but disastrous to Jimmy as well.
The exigencies of drill that morning drove the incident from the mindsof the four for the time being. Keyed up to the highest pitch of desireto do well, Ignace partially retrieved himself in the eyes of theimpatient drill sergeant. Though he could not know it, that efficientindividual laid the Pole's marked improvement of carriage to thedressing-down he had launched at Iggy on the previous day. Proud of hisability to "whip these rookies into shape" he showed considerably morepatience with the still clumsy recruit, and the end of the morning drillfound Ignace again escaping the dreaded awkward squad.
Not yet obliged to put in full time at drill, the squad to which Iggyand Jimmy belonged was dismissed at 10:30 not to resume their work untilcalled out again after one o'clock Assembly. The instant he wasreleased, Ignace hot-footed it for barracks, there to begin the "stoody"of Military Tactics as laid down by Bob. As the latter had shrewdlycalculated, when the idea for them had taken shape in his fertile brain,he could not have devised a better way of impressing the first, simpleArmy commands on the slow-thinking Polish boy. Aside from feeling highlyhonored that his "smart" Brother should have gone to so much trouble forhim, Ignace regarded the jingles with much the same delight which achild takes in its first book of nursery rhymes.
Reaching the barrack soon after Ignace, Jimmy was not surprised to findthe latter seated on his cot, busily engaged in droning Rule No. 1aloud. As it happened the squad-room was almost deserted. The three orfour rookies it contained beside themselves were wholly occupied withtheir own affairs. Thus Ignace had a free field with no one to object tothe sing-song murmur of his voice.
"Come on, Iggy," Jimmy urged. "Let's go over to the 'Y' and write ourletters again. We'll have plenty of time before mess, if we hustle."
"I can no go." Ignace stopped in the middle of a verse to make thisstolid refusal.
"Don't you want to write to your mother?"
"Y-e-a. Som' day. No now. I am the busy. Better I stoody the rule firs'.Mebbe to-night write. Mebbe, no. Now am on job. So stay I. You see. Thismorning, no get the cross word. No yet go to what call you it, that badsquad? So have I do good. Soon much good. Pretty soon fine solder, Iwork hard."
"All right. Keep up the good work." Smiling, Jimmy turned away to gethis note-paper. "Guess I'll stay here and write," he added, half tohimself. Extracting a small leather portfolio from his suit-case, hesettled himself on his cot, his back braced against the wall, andstarted the re-writing of his letters. Every now and then he raised hishead to grin at Ignace, whose voice droned on, a steady, monotonousmurmur. Far from disturbed by the sound, Jimmy was merely amused.
Shortly after their arrival, the barrack contingent began dropping in bytwos and threes, among them Roger and Bob. Regardless of all comers,Ignace's sing-song recitation never flagged. Disturbed by the increasingamount of stir and conversation, his tones rose unconsciously with ituntil gradually he became an object of attention. Nor was he in theleast aware of the curious and mirthful glances launched in hisdirection. Even the voices of his three Brothers, talking together sonear to him, failed to distract his attention from his "job."
"There sits a living monument to my usefulness," muttered Bob, jerkinghis head toward Iggy. "I wouldn't butt in on him for the world. He'sforgotten we're alive. Just listen to him."
Roger's eyes rested for an instant on the absorbed Pole, then traveledabout the squad-room. What he saw brought a quick frown to his forehead."Iggy," he remonstrated. "Keep your voice down. You're getting noisy."
"So-o!" The reciter straightened up with a jerk as though coming toAttention. "I no mean make the noise. You 'scuse."
"_I_ don't care," Roger laughed. "I only told you for your own good. Thefellows up here will start to kid you if you keep it up. That's all."
"Thank." Ignace cast a sheepish glance about him. Encountering morethan one smiling face he colored slightly, then doggedly returned to histask. Though his lips continued to move, his voice was no longer heard.Luckily for him, his arch-tormentor, Bixton, was absent from thesquad-room and so missed a chance to jeer at the "Poley Pet" as he hadsneeringly dubbed Ignace.
When, shortly before call to mess, he sauntered into the room, he cast ascowling glance toward the latter. He had anticipated the pleasure ofseeing "that thick fathead" banished to the awkward squad. Inconsequence he was disappointed, not so much on Iggy's account, but morebecause of Jimmy's peppery championship of the former. He had begun byjeering at Iggy purely because he considered him a glaring mark forridicule. Jimmy's interference had aroused in him a fierce dislike forboth boys which was not likely to die out in a hurry.
The presence of the acting first sergeant, who had come up the stairsbehind him, alone served to keep him discreetly within bounds. Hisbunkie, however, a lank, hard-featured man, whose small black eyes had adisagreeable trick of narrowing until almost half shut, lost no time inregaling the newcomer with the latest news from across the aisle,laughing loudly as he related it. Seated side by side on the latter'scot the two were a fitting pair. At least, so Jimmy thought, hisusually pleasant mouth curving scornfully as he viewed them for asecond, then turned his back squarely upon the obnoxious couple.
At drill that afternoon, Ignace did even better than in the morning.True, he had not yet absorbed much of Bob's rhymed information. Still,it had given him a working basis on which to proceed. It needed onlytime and the dogged persistence which so characterized him to give him alasting grip on the first principles of military tactics.
Released from drill, half-past three that afternoon saw him back inbarracks, and engrossed in the "stoody" of his precious jingles. Now,however, he was minus the company of his Brothers, who returned to thesquad-room after drill only to go directly out again for a walk aboutthe camp. With no friendly eye to keep ward over him, Ignace forgotRoger's caution of the morning and was soon droning away like a hugebumble-bee. Nor did he evince the slightest sign of having heard, whenfrom across the room floated the surly command, "Aw, cut it out, you bigboob!"
"'All officer you mus' saloot,'" placidly intoned Iggy, his gaze gluedto his copy. "'You right han' to you head now----'"
"What's the matter with you, you fathead? You heard me tell you 'cut itout' once. Isn't that enough?" This second boorish hail as well as thefirst came from the man, Bixton, who was lounging on his cot. Hislonged-for opportunity had come.
This time Ignace had heard and dimly realized that he was being mostungently addressed. His voice breaking off on "now" his head came upwith a jerk. His round blue eyes registered a blank amazement thatquickly changed to active resentment as he fixed them upon the rookiewho had so roughly called out to him. Half rising from his cot, hisstrong hands instinctively clenched themselves. Then he slowly sank backto his former position, determined to follow Bob's advice, "just act asthough that smarty wasn't alive." Out of pure defiance he again resumedhis reciting of the Salute rule, raising his tones a trifle by way ofshowing his utter disregard for the other's uncalled-for attack.
With a sudden spring Bixton left his cot. A hasty glance about himrevealed the fact that the room was clear of officers. Nor were theremore than half a dozen privates present, including himself and Ignace.Striding across to where the latter sat he halted directly in front ofthe Pole.
"I'm goin' to put the sergeant onto yo
u, you poor fish," he blustered."How'd you s'pose a fellow can rest with you keeping up that racket? Nowchop it off, or you'll get yours."
For answer, Ignace calmly laid down one of the typewritten sheets hewas holding and centered his gaze on another.
"At 'Forwar' Mar----" he began unconcernedly.
With a sudden lunge of his right arm, Bixton snatched at the littlesheaf of papers. Unexpected as was the movement, the Pole's grip on themtightened. One of them came away in the aggressor's clutch, however,with an ominous tearing sound.
That was the last straw. Insults to himself, Ignace could endure, butwhen it came to an attempt to wrest from him the fruits of Bob's laborhe was a changed and raging Iggy. Uttering a wrathful howl he launchedhis stocky body at Bixton with a force that sent them both crashing tothe squad-room floor. The Pole landing uppermost, his arms wrappedthemselves about his tormentor in an effort to pin him down.
Of strong and wiry build, Bixton struggled fiercely to free himself.Over and over the squad-room floor they rolled, thumping heavily withevery turn. Nearing the end of the room farthest from the stairway, Iggysucceeded in tearing himself free and getting a vise-like hold on hisantagonist. The few rookies that had been present when the fight begannow gathered about the combatants with noisy exclamations of "Give it tohim, Poley!" "You got him cinched, now hand him one!" It was plainlyevident with whom their sympathies lay. Bixton was most thoroughlydisliked by the majority of his comrades.
"_Ignace Pulinski!_"
The utterance was freighted with a degree of stern disapproval thatalmost caused the Pole to relax his grip on his adversary. It proceededfrom Roger Barlow. He had come up the stairs just in time to hear thecry of "Give it to him, Poley!" Darting the length of the floor, he hadpushed his way into the midst of the group to behold his usually placidBrother transformed into an enraged savage.
"Let him up," ordered Roger. "_Let him up, I say!_" The intenseforcefulness of his tones cut the air like a whip-lash. Long years ofobedience to a superior will now had its effect upon Ignace. His facedistorted with anger, nevertheless his strong hands fell away fromBixton's prostrate form. Very sullenly he lumbered to his feet andstepped back a pace, his fists still doubled.
Freed from that relentless pressure, Bixton was up in a flash. His paleblue eyes gleaming with malignant fury, he launched a vicious upper-cutat Ignace, only to find his punishing right arm arrested in mid-air bytwo determined hands. Anticipating some such move on Bixton's part,Roger had blocked it with lightning-like swiftness.
"Help me hold him back, you fellows," he snapped, as Bixton struggledto strike him with his left arm.
Three pairs of sturdy arms now coming to Roger's aid, Bixton was fairlydragged over to his cot and bundled upon it, thrashing about wildlyunder the pinioning hands. Ignace had not assisted in this operation. Hestood stock-still at the point where he had let Bixton up, his face astudy. Roger's interference had brought him to his senses. He wasbeginning to regret his own display of temper. He had done just exactlywhat he had been warned against doing. Weighted down by a sense of hisown shortcomings, he shuffled over to his cot and began to pick up hisscattered papers.
"Hold on to him just a minute more, please. I've something to say tohim." With this energetic direction, Roger's own hands relaxed theirgrasp on Bixton. "Now, listen to me," he continued, fixing a steely gazeon the man. "If you know when you're well off, you'll behave yourselfwhen the fellows let go of you. I don't know what all this is about, andI don't care. Just by pure luck you've escaped the sergeant. If he'dcome in here as I did and seen you two fighting, you'd both be in theguard-house by now. He's likely to come in any minute, so watchyourself. That's all. Break away, boys."
Released, Bixton shot up from his cot like a jack-in-the-box. "Trying toscreen your pet, are you?" he sputtered. "Well, you can't. He's goingto get his, all right, the minute the sarge hits the squad-room. I'llteach that pasty-faced hulk a thing or two!"
For all his bluster, he made no attempt to attack either Roger or hiscompanions.
"Better hold your tongue," advised Roger dryly, looking the bullysquarely in the eye. "It takes two to make a fight, you know. I wouldn'tbank too much on the sergeant's seeing it differently. Come on, fellows.Leave him to think it over."
Roger turned away, followed by an extremely disgusted trio of young men.He did not consider it necessary to enjoin them to silence. Bixton'sthreat to tell tales to the sergeant had merely put him in deep disfavorwith them. In the Army or out, no self-respecting man will countenance atale-bearer.
Roger went over to Ignace, who had now slumped down on his cot in anattitude of utter dejection. He had hard work to keep from smiling. Hedid not doubt for an instant that Ignace had had just cause for hisoutbreak. Nevertheless, he put on an air of severity that he was farfrom feeling. "What started this fight?" he asked sharply. "Didn't Boband I both warn you not to notice that fellow? Do you know where you'llland if the sergeant hears of this? You'll land in the guard-house for amonth, maybe. I shouldn't be very sorry for you, if you did. Get up andlet me brush you off. Your uniform's covered with dust."
Without a word Ignace meekly stood up. Reaching under his own cot forhis clothes brush, Roger put it into energetic use on his now chastenedBrother. "I'm surprised at you," he rebuked, between strokes. "You needa keeper, Iggy."
"So am I the bad one," Ignace agreed mournfully. "But I feel to killw'en that----" English failing him, he paused, then added a string ofPolish words which Roger could only guess at as not being complimentaryto Bixton.
"You had better luck than you deserved," commented Roger crisply. "Nowcome on out for a walk with me. I want you to tell me about this affair.But not here. It's a good thing that it was I instead of Jimmy whohappened along. There'd have been a free-for-all fight sure. Here comesthe sergeant, too," he added grimly, as the acting first sergeantstepped from the stairway into the squad room. "Wait a minute. Sit downagain and we'll see what Bixton intends to do."
With these words, Roger calmly seated himself on his own cot to awaitdevelopments, his eyes trained squarely on Bixton. That injuredindividual had also been busy plying a clothes brush, a fairly goodsign, Roger thought, that he did not intend to carry out his threat.During the short time that the sergeant remained in the room anexpectant silence prevailed. Like himself the other rookies present werebreathlessly awaiting the outcome.
Stretched at full length on his cot, Bixton made no move to unburdenhimself to the officer. He watched the latter morosely as he paused togive an order to one of the men, who promptly seized his hat andfollowed him from the room. As the two disappeared, Roger could notrefrain from casting a challenging glance at the sulker. Directly he haddone it, he was sorry.
Bixton had caught and rightly interpreted it. Raising himself on hiselbow he said fiercely: "'Fraid I was going to tell on him, wasn't you?I'll do it yet, if I feel like it. I'll fix both you boobs for this.There's other ways beside that. Before I'm through, I'll see you bothfired outa this camp and those two smart Alecks that run with you. Thiscamp's not big enough to hold me and you fresh guys at the same time,and you'll pretty soon get wise to it or my name's not Bixton."