OCR Text |
Show fHBt., . E l I - THE COWARD By Wallace M. Bayliss , II wL fifi"TID you over wonder now II p flf JL would feel to be kissed by an- m&i other man?" IBs Crane and I sat in the chummy fMBr' chairs of the club, smoking in silence, W&P. contented just to be together again. WjL Manlike, after the first pleasure of jiff meeting and learning in outline what f Hfe each had been doing in the two years Ky since we had last met, we sat there P saying very little, thinking much. K Had we been women we would have ijP' been chattering at eight-cylinder 0B speed as were tho two who had evoked Kr the question. I have often thought (nL that the reasons all the thinking of the ! world seems to have been done by men Mw is that they think with their mouths rc shut, while women seem to think with Hi? their tongues wagging, and any germ mm of thought, if they ever have any, is w swirled away in the whirlwind of m words or smothered in the swathing j H of sound with which its birth is at- I ah tended. Ideas, like pearls, are devel- r A oped in silence. It Hu It was ladies' night, and when the rlro two in question, fair samples of their & sex, met and kissed so effusively, the 3P same thought flashed through my jjg.!" mind that Will put into words. m "Well, I rather imagine it would ymj make me feel like saying Sacre! as lyiv the Frenchman with whom you have 'mS 1 been associating lately would probably jl&f say," I remarked, trying to imitate the j,wp French shrug of the shoulders and ges- JnSf ture of the hands. iRk Will smiled reminiscently. "I re- W member," he said, "one day seeing fe two foreigners Greeks, I took them $$1$, to be bidding each other good-bye flfe? at the railroad station. They kissed ft ' each other on the lips, the cheeks, $ 1 8fc and the hands, and as the train drew i W out each man threw kisses to the oth- Ier. They did it with no more constraint con-straint than 'you and I would show at shaking hands; but it made me feel silly just to watch them." We could hear the ladies still talking talk-ing feverishly in their society manner, imrt of the time both of them talking at once. Apparently their little oscu-latory oscu-latory indulgence had awakened some memories, for Will, who was little of a story-teller, save when he was unaware un-aware that he was telling a story, blew a very pretty smoke ring, tossed the butt into the grate, and said, "It's funny, isn't it, that seeing those two fellows at the railroad station should stick in my mind and come back to it away over in France on the battlefield battle-field of the Somme?" I agreed that it was, but refrained from asking questions. He had joined the French army early in the war, had seen the hardest of service, and was now invalided home. I felt that he must be a veritable mine of stories, if one only had some means to get them to the surface through that tantaliz-ingly tantaliz-ingly close mouth of his. "There was a chap over there, an American, that I became pretty well acquainted with. He wasn't much of a hand to talk; didn't tell the other fel- lows in the company much about himself, him-self, or why he had enlisted. Ho was wounded about the same time I was, and was in a bed in the hospital close to me. We got confidential lying there with mighty little to think about, and less to smoke. He told me that his father had been a Civil War veteran, and the boy has always been all-fired proud of his old man because of that. When ho grew to young manhood he realized as never nev-er before how truly brave his father had been, and he fell to wondering whether he, himself, would be or could be brave under circumstances or conditions con-ditions similar to those his father had lived through. Maybe he was inclined in-clined to be morbid in temperament. At any rate he finally decided that he couldn't; that he wouldn't join an army, even if the need should arise. He came to the firm conviction that he was a coward. It didn't make him feel proud of himself, naturally. And then he found that he was queer in another way. When Old Glory went by in a parade he felt it was foolish and childish to cheer, and he felt as if it was posing if he saluted, or saw anyone else salute sa-lute the flag. The only thing that seemed to stir his blood was to see old soldiers go marching by. Then he would grovel in his soul, for he felt that even the shortest old fellow there was infinitely taller than he in soul stature. Finally he discovered that he felt not the least thrill when the Star-Spangled Star-Spangled Banner was played or sung. Oh, of course he always stood up, and if others cheered he cheered, too, for he was a coward, and he was afraid not to cheer. So he preferred hypocrisy, hypo-crisy, which is- the cloak of the coward, cow-ard, rather than revelation of his true attitdue. And, of course, ho would sing when other sang; but his heart was not in it, and he would watch out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone any-one was looking or laughing at him, for he felt that he was making a spectacle spec-tacle of himself. When this fearful war broke out in Europe he used to listen to other young men talking about what they would do if they were Frenchmen or Englishmen, and while he didn't speak up very often, occsaionally he would boast, hypocritically, of what he also would do, yet knowing in his own soul that he wouldn't if put to the test. The poor chap finally got so he hated himself by day and night. II seemed to him as if some spectre he thought it was his father walked by his side pointing a finger of scorn at him. And then one night he heard some friends casually remark that a certain fellow, a mutual acquaintance, had gone to France to enlist, feeling that the time had come when America should help to repay her debt to France, even though the United States was neutral, technically, if she . - i ever could be neutral when France was in trouble. That gave him an idea, at which his soul fairly writhed at first. After days of torture he decided that ho might just as well go, and see whether or not hew ould be an arrant coward if the crucial test should come. It seemed as if some power greater than his own will was drawing him Into the maelstrom of hell over there. So he cleared up his affairs and quietly disappeared from his old haunts. Tho only thing in the whole affair of which he felt proud was" the way he went away. He was honorable there, anyway, and went away without with-out any fanfare. He would play the hypocrite no longer. He would not take credit for a bravery to which he was not entitled. When he landed in France there was little time for training. The battle bat-tle of the Marne was still a horrible nightmare in the minds of all the people. peo-ple. He was rushed to the front. Another An-other great battle was impending. All this time he was in an agony of fear. The queer part of it was that he did not fear to die. That never seemed to enter his mind. He seemed to fear something he could not name. As nearly as he can explain it, it was a numbing dread that he would show himself to be what he knew in his soul he was, a coward. He could not erase from his mind the picture painted there by a man on a small pleasure boat on Lake Michigan. Michi-gan. As it wended its way to the landing at Lincoln Park it was tossed about quite smartly by the waves that were a little higher than usual owing to the strong wind. This poor, frightened fright-ened fellow turned a horrible, sickish green, his lips drew back from his teeth, which chattered convulsively, and it took two others to hold the frantic man from throwing himself into in-to the water. This fellow I'm telling you about never forgot that, and tho sight seemed so dreaful to him that he prayed he never would betray his cowardice. It seemed a dream the way he was hustled about, the noise, the confusion, confu-sion, the hurrying forward to the front, and in no time he was within hearing of the bursting shells. He never could tell how, or how soon he got into the trenches. All he can remember re-member is that ho found himself there, was a gun in his hand, and receiving re-ceiving instructions to keep his head down. It seemed as if he had suddenly sudden-ly been dumped into the middle of hell itself. Scared? He was so scared he couldn't have run if he had been told to do so. But still he was a hypocrite. Ho was shivering so it was noticeable. An officer came by. "Afraid?" "No. Just a little cold," he chattered. chat-tered. "That's the right spirit, boy!" I I i S " "Damn it, I'm afraid, and darn. good ' Jm afraid," said a big fellow right next to ;, 'M him, "but it does me a hell of a lot of M good now." ' "Same here, brother," chlrupped an- lA other man a few feet away, "and if 'mj I we're scared, I'll bet them Bodies over M there is scared worse." m I It was wonderful the effect that lit- 1$Nfl tie scrap of conversation had on him. I I However, he had missed his chance. .A He was still a hypocrite, for he had H I been afraid to say he was afraid, and P? I now that he had denied being afraid I I he couldn't admit it. The psychologi- I cal time to say he was had gone by. ! ' fl Once he took his eyes away from H the peek hole, and there stood his i"V?M father. His finger was still pointing, ' but this time it pointed out over the l trenches, and on his face was a smile rfl of approval. So real was it all that "" he spoke up, "What do you mean, Dad, I pointing over the trenches?" H "Eh? What's that?" said the big M-H fellow next to him, startled. "Oh, nothing," denied the boy. fl "The noise has got his nanny, I H guess," was the only comment the big I H fellow made to the man on the other H side. f H One day they were ordered over jH the top for a charge. It was one of ' 'H those wicked days in the battle of the fH Somme. Out of three thousand men ' tfl in the charge, only thirty-six came IB back. When that pitiful little three H dozen were driven back into the a H trenches, this fellow suddenly felt like 3 H a wet dish-rag. He never remembered H how he had gotten over the top, or ,f H how he had fought. People said that H ho fought like a demon, and was the H last man back. He knew nothing H about it. H But when he found himself back I "H there in the trenches, and looked out H again over No Man's Land, there lay H the big fellow whom he had lear.ned to H love, his head rolling from side to H side, and bleeding from a shell-rip in ' H his side. iH The Coward, for such he always !H called himself in his own thoughts, H looked out, and then looked down. He l could not go out there again. He was f Jfl afraid. He felt his face turn green, I'H and he couldn't control it. He put his ?H hand to his mouth, and found that his H lips were drawing back from his , H teeth. His teeth commenced to chat- i M tor. He knew that the great test had ' H come, and he was failing. i H JUst then he looked out again. H There was his father, in his old blue ' fl Grand Army uniform, standing right H beside his trench-mate who was so ' lM grievously wounded, and beckoning to jfl him. fl "'I'm coming, Dad!" he cried, in a fl ringing voice. imM An officer tried to grasp him. ' j "Let me alone," he snarled, striking Ifl at the officer, "I'm a coward. I'm a l coward, I tell you. I'm going out there H to get that fellow to prove that I'm H not a coward." 11 Br "It's suro death, boy, sure death!" Hf wailed the officer as the boy went H: over tho top of the trench and dashed Ht for his comrade. As he picked him up, H( another lad, lying there with that long- Hj ing, hopeless look badly wounded men g get in their eyes, begged, "Will you g come and get me, too?" H "I will," promised the Coward. And R he did. He went back there eleven Hit times and brought in men. The twelfth m time he got nicked. A bursting shell Hl threw a pipce that hit him in the knee Hj and broke it." H' Will fell silent, and I waited, know- H ing that ho would eventually tell H where that kissing business came into H the story. I looked at his knee. It H was stiff. I began to do some wonder- Bt ing. ) "Well, when the battle of the Hi Somme was a matter of history," Will B' soon resumed, "and the Coward's H knee had healed so he could get H around on crutches, he received an H order from the French officer In com- H mand to appear at headquarters at 2 H o'clock on a certain day. H When he hobbled up to the tent, the H commander came out and in his ef- H fusive French fashion ho commenced, H in broken English, to tell the Coward H what a bravo man he was. Then a H guard came up at a signal and they H were ordered to "Forward March." H The Coward felt that he was making H a spectacle of himself trying to get a H military stride with those crutches H and the game leg. Out in front of the H whole division, gathered on parade, H he was marched, and the squad halted. H The general then repeated to the as- H sembled men what he had said to the H Coward. H Then he turned to the Coward and H pinned on his breast the Cross of the H Legion of Honor. I guess that's the H only time anyone ever tried to refuse H the Cross, for that's exactly what the H Coward did. The general drew him- H self up to his full height and haught- H ily demanded a reason. H "Because, sir, I don't deserve it," H said the fellow. H All the general did was laugh, shrug H his shoulders, and then take the Cow- H ard's face in his hands and kiss him on H both cheeks. H "And that's when the Coward re- H membered the Greeks at the railroad H station, isn't it?" I asked, looking Will H straight in the face. M "Fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Will, H blusteringly. "I said that I remem- H bered the Greeks of the railroad sta- H tion when I was on the battlefield of Hj the Somme; I didn't say the Coward H did. You see," he continued, lamely, H "I I I was there, you know, when H the Coward was decorated, and saw it m m "Will, I'd like to see that Cross just H once before I go. I've been accepted, H you know." H He hesitated just a fraction. "All H right, old man, you can," he said H quietly. "We'll go up to the room H now, if you say the word." Bridge- H port Life. |