Biltmore Oswald Read online

thus made heavy the heart of another, I continued on my wayfeeling somehow greatly cheered only to find upon entering my barracksthat my blankets were in the lucky bag. How did I ever forget to placethem in my hammock? It was a natural omission though, I fancy, for themaster-at-arms so terrifies me in the morning with his great shouts of"Hit the deck, sailor! Shake a leg--rise an' shine" that I am unnervedfor the remainder of the day.

  _April 29th._ Life seems to be composed of just one parade afteranother. I am weary of the plaudits and acclamation of the multitudeand long for some sequestered spot on a mountain peak in Thibet. Everytime I see a street I instinctively start to walk down the middle ofit. Last week I was one of the many thousands of Pelham men whomarched along Fifth Avenue in the Liberty Loan parade. I thought I wasdoing particularly well and would have made a perfect score if one ofmy leggins hadn't come off right in front of the reviewing stand muchto the annoyance of the guy behind me because he tripped on it andalmost dropped his gun. For the remainder of the parade I wassubjected to a running fire of abuse that fairly made my flesh crawl.

  At the end of the march I ran into a rather nebulous, middle-aged sortof a gentleman soldier who was sitting on the curb looking moodily ata manhole as if he would like to jump in it.

  "Hello, stranger," says I in a blustery, seafaring voice, "you look asif you'd been cursed at about as much as I have. What sort of anoutfit do you belong to?"

  He scrutinized one of his buttons with great care and then told me allabout himself.

  "I'm a home guard, you know," he added bitterly, "all we do is toescort people. I've escorted the Blue Devils, the Poilus, theAustralians, mothers of enlisted men, mothers of men who would haveenlisted if they could, Boy Scouts and loan workers until my dogs arejolly well near broken down on me. Golly, I wish I was young enough toenjoy a quiet night's sleep in the trenches for a change."

  Later I saw him gloomily surveying the world from the window of apassing cab. He was evidently through for the time being at least.

  _April 30th._ I took my bar-keeping pal home over the last week-endliberty. It was a mistake. He admits it himself. Mother will neverhave him in the house again. Mother could never get him in the houseagain. He fears her. The first thing he did was to mix poor deargrandfather a drink that caused the old gentleman to forget his gameleg which had been damaged in battles, ranging anywhere from theMexican to the Spanish wars, according to grandfather's mood at thetime he is telling the story, but which I believe, according to aprivate theory of mine, was really caught in a folding bed. However itwas, grandfather forgot all about this leg of his entirely andinsisted on dancing with Nora, our new maid. Mother, of course, washorrified. But not content with that, this friend of mine concoctedsome strange beverage for the pater which so delighted him that heloaned my so-called pal the ten spot I had been intending to borrow.The three of them sat up until all hours of the night playing cardsand telling ribald stories. As mother took me upstairs to bed shegazed down on her father-in-law and her husband in the clutches ofthis demon and remarked bitterly to me:

  "Like father, like son," and I knew that she was thoroughly determinedto make both of them pay dearly for their pleasant interlude.Breakfast the next morning was a rather trying ordeal. Grandfatheronce more resorted to his game leg with renewed vigor, referringseveral times to the defense of the Alamo, so I knew he was pretty lowin his mind. Father withdrew at the sight of bacon. Mother laughedscornfully as he departed. My friend ate a hearty breakfast and kept asort of a happy-go-lucky monologue throughout its entire course. Itook him out walking afterward and forgot to bring him back.

  "THE FIRST THING HE DID WAS TO MIX POOR DEARGRANDFATHER A DRINK"]

  _April 31st._ Have just come off guard duty and feel quite exhausted.The guns are altogether too heavy. I can think of about five differentthings I could remove from them without greatly decreasing theirutility. The first would be the barrel. The artist who drew thepicture in the last camp paper of Dawn appearing in the form of abeautiful woman must have had more luck than I have ever had. I thinkhe would have been closer to the truth if he had put her in a speedingautomobile on its way home from a road house. It surely is a proof ofdiscipline to hear the mocking, silver-toned laughter of women ringout in the night only ten feet away and not drop your gun and followit right through the barbed wire. After the war, I am going to buylots of barbed wire and cut it up into little bits just to relieve myfeelings.

  Last night I had the fright of my life. Some one was fooling aroundthe fence in the darkness.

  "Who's there?" I cried.

  "Why, I'm Kaiser William," came the answer in a subdued voice.

  "Well, I wish you'd go away, Kaiser William," said I nervously,"you're busting the lights out of rule number six."

  "What's that?" asks the voice.

  "Not to commit a nuisance with any one except in a military manner," Ireplied, becoming slightly involved.

  "That's not such a wonderful rule," came back the voice in complainingtones. "I could make up a rule better than that."

  "Don't try to to-night," I pleaded.

  There was silence for a moment, then the voice continued seriously,"Say, I'm not Kaiser William really. Honest I'm not."

  "Well, who are you?" I asked impatiently.

  "Why, I'm Tucks," the voice replied. "Folks call me that because Itake so many of them in my trousers."

  "Well, Tucks," I replied, "you'd better be moving on. I don't knowwhat might happen with this gun. I'm tempted to shoot the cartridgeout of it just to make it lighter."

  "Oh, you can't shoot me," cried Tucks, "I'm crazy. I bet you didn'tknow that, did you?"

  "I wasn't sure," I answered.

  "Oh, I'm awfully crazy," continued Tucks, "everybody says so, and Ilook it, too, in the daylight."

  "You must," I replied.

  "Well, good night," said Tucks in the same subdued voice. "If you finda flock of pink Liberty Bonds around here, remember I lost them." Hedeparted in the direction of City Island.

  "I WAS TEMPTED TO SHOOT THE CARTRIDGE OUT JUST TO MAKEIT LIGHTER"]

  _May 1st._ I visited the office of the camp paper to-day and found itto be an extremely hectic place. In the course of a conversation withthe Chief I chanced to look up and caught two shining eyes staringmalevolently at me from a darkened corner of the room. This creatureblinked at me several times very rapidly, wiggled its mustache andsuddenly disappeared into the thick shadows.

  "Who is that?" I cried, startled.

  "That's our mad photographer," said the Chief. "What do you think ofhim?"

  "Do you keep him in there?" I asked, pointing to the coal-blackcupboard-like room into which this strange creature had disappeared.

  "Yes," said the Chief, "and he likes it. Often he stays there for daysat a time, only coming out for air." At this juncture there came fromthe dark room the sounds of breaking glass, which was immediatelyfollowed by strange animal-like sounds as the mad photographer burstout of his den and proclaimed to all the world that nothing meant verymuch in his life and that it would be absolutely immaterial to him ifthe paper and its entire staff should suddenly be visited with flood,fire and famine. After this gracious and purely gratuitous piece ofinformation he again withdrew, but strange mutterings still continuedto issue forth from his lair. While I was sitting in the office theeditor happened to drift in from the adjacent room crisply attired ina pair of ragged, disreputable trousers and a sleeveless gray sweaterwhich was raveling in numerous places. It was the shock of my life.

  "Where's our yeoman?" he grumbled, at which the yeoman, who somehowreminded me of some character from one of Dickens's novels, edged outof the door, but he was too late. Spying him, the editor launchedforth on a violent denunciation, in which for no particular reason thecartoonist and sporting editor joined. There they stood, the three ofthem, abusing this poor simple yeoman in the most unnecessary manneras far as I could make out. Three harder cut-throats I have neverencountered. While in the office, I came upon a rather elderly artistcrouched ov
er in a corner writhing as if he was in great pain. He wasin the throes of composition, I was told, and he looked it. Poorwretch, he seemed to have something on his mind. The only man I sawwho seemed to have anything like a balanced mind was the financialshark, a little ferret-eyed, onery-looking cuss whom I wouldn't havetrusted out of my sight. He was sitting with his nose thrust in somedusty volume totally oblivious of the pandemonium that reigned aroundhim. He either has a great mind or none at all--probably the latter. Ifear I would never make an editor. The atmosphere is simplyaltogether too strenuous for me.

  _May 4th._ There seems to be no place in the