Chapter VI: The Beginning of Trouble

Hastily tucking his letter into its envelope, Jim noiselessly trailed Roger to the top of the hill. Looking down, they beheld a most remarkable sight. Back and forth in the hollow, for a distance of about twenty feet, marched, or rather pranced, Ignace. His shoulders rigidly forced back by means of a long stick, thrust under his arms, he was giving an exhibition of high stepping that would have filled Bob with joy. Lifting first one foot, then the other, to a height of at least two feet, he traversed the hollow with the airy steps of a circus pony.

"Let's beat it before I howl," begged Jimmy, shaking with suppressed mirth.

As stealthily as they had come, the two beat a quick retreat down the hill and out of sight of their industrious Brother, where they could have their laugh out.

"I never thought he'd do it," gasped Jimmy.

"We won't let him know we saw him. It would be a shame to kid him when he's so dead in earnest. But won't Bob howl? Oh, wait till I tell him!"

"It was certainly rich." Roger's boyish laugh rang out afresh. "It'll do him good, though. I'll bet he keeps it up every day. He's afraid of being put in the awkward squad. I like his grit. He'll get there. Now if Bob can fix him up on the rest. We'd better be hiking, Jimmy Blazes. It must be nearly time for Retreat."

"Four-thirty." Jimmy consulted a gunmetal wrist watch. "I wouldn't wear one of these at home," he added, half apologetically. "They're too girly-girly. But they're all O. K. out here."

"Wish I had one." Bob eyed the little watch with approval. "I think I'll buy one when I get my first pay. It would be a great convenience."

Jimmy agreed that it would. He also made mental note that he would write certain things to his mother at once. Well supplied with pocket money, he decided that he would surprise his bunkie with a present of a wrist watch long before pay-day arrived. Roger would value it doubly as a gift from a Brother.

"What if poor old Iggy forgets to come out of the woods in time for Retreat?" Having now descended the slope and almost reached the company street on which their barrack was situated, Roger paused to glance anxiously back toward the woods.

"Think we'd better skate back after him?" Jimmy's gaze followed Roger's.

As they stared toward the woods, a familiar figure came loping down to the stump fence. Iggy was still decorated with his makeshift shoulder brace. Scrambling over the fence, the Pole stopped and laboriously divesting himself of the stick, tucked it under a projecting stump. Straightening up, he threw back his shoulders and came slowly forward, careful to lift his heavy feet well from the ground, though in a now-modified fashion.

"Did you see him tuck away his shoulder brace?" snickered Jimmy. "That means to-morrow same time, same place. No awkward squad for Iggy. It's Jimmy's little old bunch for him. Ignace So Pulinski's going to stick by his brother James, if he has to step clear over the barracks to do it. Let's hustle, so we can tell old Bob before Iggy comes."

Vastly amused by what they had so lately witnessed, the two strode rapidly along toward their barrack, to acquaint Bob with the exploits of Ignace before that aspirant toward military proficiency should put in an appearance.

"Well, how's the great stunt?" inquired Jimmy. On entering the barrack, he had hurried ahead of Roger, who had stopped to speak to a comrade, up the short flight of steps to the second floor squad room, where the four Khaki Boys bunked.

Seated cross-legged on his cot, a quantity of loose sheets of paper scattered broadcast about him, Bob was making a fountain pen fairly fly over a pad, braced against one knee. Raising his head from his writing he grinned amiably. "Oh, fine, fine," he declared. "Bobby has certainly been the busy little rookie. I'm not done yet, by a long shot. After mess I'm going to see if I can't borrow the loan of a typewriting machine and type this copy." He waved a careless hand over the wide-strewn sheets of paper.

"But what's that got to do with the great stunt? Or maybe this _is_ the stunt?" Jimmy guessed, nodding toward the papers.

"Clever lad," commented Bob. "This is _it_. Mustn't touch," he warned, as Jimmy reached out a mischievous hand to gather them in. "Can your impetuosity, Jimmy Blazes. Now watch me rake in the results of two hours' genius." Bob whisked the papers together in a jiffy and began patting them into an even pile.

"All right, stingy. Just for that I shan't tell you Iggy's latest." Jimmy turned away, smiling to himself. He was not in the least peeved. He merely wanted to arouse Bob's curiosity.

"It'll keep," was the unconcerned answer. "It's almost time for Retreat, anyhow. I'll hear the terrible tale of illustrious Iggy later, all right. Better still, I'll ask Iggy about it."

"You needn't." Jimmy swung round with a jerk. "Don't say a word to him. He doesn't know we know it."

"We? H-m! That's you and Ruddy, I suppose. Then I'll quiz old Roger. Here he comes now with our Polish brother at his heels. What's happened to Iggy? He looks all braced up. Sort of a strait-jacket effect. What make of starch do you use, Iggy?" he waggishly hailed, as the Pole reached him, holding himself painfully erect.

"You see? You think him better?" Ignace asked anxiously. "Yes, but I am the tired!" Making a lunge for his cot he bundled himself upon it in a heap.

"Complete collapse of the left line," murmured Bob.

Now grown used to the sight of their comrades, the other occupants of the barrack had paid small attention to the trio who had just arrived. Bixton, however, the talkative rookie whom the four "Brothers" so disliked had been aware of the Pole's sudden change of carriage. A member of the same squad, he had heard the drill sergeant's reprimand of Ignace that afternoon and accordingly took his cue from it.

"Hey, Poley, what's the matter?" he called in a purposely loud tone. Ignace had now risen from his cot and reassumed his strait-jacket appearance. "Are you practicing for the awkward squad? You'll get there if you live till to-morrow."

"You too much speak." A slow red had crept into the Pole's cheeks. His mild blue eyes held an angry glint as he turned on his tormentor who had swaggered up to him. "I no like you. You no let me 'lone I give you the strong poonch." Ignace clenched his right hand menacingly.

"Oh, you will, will you? Better not try it. You'll----"

"Let him alone," ordered Jimmy hotly. "He's minding his own business. Now mind yours."

"Who asked you to butt in?" sneered Bixton. "'Fraid I might give your Poley pet a trimming?"

The appearance at the head of the stairs of the acting first sergeant of the squad-room put an end to the budding altercation. The men who had begun to gather about the wranglers prudently left the scene of discord, and promptly busied themselves with their own affairs.

Almost immediately afterward the call for Retreat formation sounded and the recruits were marshalled out into the company street, where they stood at attention while the daily ceremony of lowering the Flag was conducted, a regimental band in the distance playing the "Star Spangled Banner." Everywhere in Camp Sterling at this hour all soldiers not on detail were expected to stand at attention during this impressive ceremony, saluting as the band played the final note.

Our four Khaki Boys found themselves thrilling in response to the sonorous notes of their country's chosen anthem. All watched with reverent eyes the dignified descent of that red, white and blue banner, the sacred emblem of "Liberty and Union; Now and Forever; One and Inseparable."