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of a cross-examination. He was master. It would now be he
who could laugh and shoot the shafts of derision.
The friend had, in a weak hour, spoken with sobs of his
own death. He had delivered a melancholy oration previous
to his funeral, and had doubtless in the packet of letters,
presented various keepsakes to relatives. But he had not
died, and thus he had delivered himself into the hands of the
youth.
The latter felt immensely superior to his friend, but he
inclined to condescension. He adopted toward him an air of
patronizing good humor.
His self-pride was now entirely restored. In the shade of
its flourishing growth he stood with braced and self-
confident legs, and since nothing could now be discovered he
did not shrink from an encounter with the eyes of judges,
and allowed no thoughts of his own to keep him from an
attitude of manfulness. He had performed his mistakes in the
dark, so he was still a man.
Indeed, when he remembered his fortunes of yesterday,
and looked at them from a distance he began to see
something fine there. He had license to be pompous and
veteranlike.
His panting agonies of the past he put out of his sight.
In the present, he declared to himself that it was only
the doomed and the damned who roared with sincerity at
circumstance. Few but they ever did it. A man with a full
stomach and the respect of his fellows had no business to
scold about anything that he might think to be wrong in the
ways of the universe, or even with the ways of society. Let
the unfortunates rail; the others may play marbles.
He did not give a great deal of thought to these battles
that lay directly before him. It was not essential that he
should plan his ways in regard to them. He had been taught
that many obligations of a life were easily avoided. The
lessons of yesterday had been that retribution was a laggard
and blind. With these facts before him he did not deem it
necessary that he should become feverish over the
possibilities of the ensuing twenty-four hours. He could leave
much to chance. Besides, a faith in himself had secretly
blossomed. There was a little flower of confidence growing
within him. He was now a man of experience. He had been
out among the dragons, he said, and he assured himself that
they were not so hideous as he had imagined them. Also,
they were inaccurate; they did not sting with precision. A
stout heart often defied, and defying, escaped.
And, furthermore, how could they kill him who was the
chosen of gods and doomed to greatness?
He remembered how some of the men had run from the
battle. As he recalled their terror-struck faces he felt a scorn
for them. They had surely been more fleet and more wild
than was absolutely necessary. They were weak mortals. As
for himself, he had fled with discretion and dignity.
He was aroused from this reverie by his friend, who,
having hitched about nervously and blinked at the trees for a
time, suddenly coughed in an introductory way, and spoke.
"Fleming!"
"What?"
The friend put his hand up to his mouth and coughed
again. He fidgeted in his jacket.
"Well," he gulped at last, "I guess yeh might as well give
me back them letters." Dark, prickling blood had flushed into
his cheeks and brow.
"All right, Wilson," said the youth. He loosened two
buttons of his coat, thrust in his hand, and brought forth the
packet. As he extended it to his friend the latter's face was
turned from him.
He had been slow in the act of producing the packet
because during it he had been trying to invent a remarkable
comment on the affair. He could conjure up nothing of
sufficient point. He was compelled to allow his friend to
escape unmolested with his packet. And for this he took unto
himself considerable credit. It was a generous thing.
His friend at his side seemed suffering great shame. As
he contemplated him, the youth felt his heart grow more
strong and stout. He had never been compelled to blush in
such manner for his acts; he was an individual of
extraordinary virtues.
He reflected, with condescending pity: "Too bad! Too
bad! The poor devil, it makes him feel tough!"
After this incident, and as he reviewed the battle
pictures he had seen, he felt quite competent to return home
and make the hearts of the people glow with stories of war.
He could see himself in a room of warm tints telling tales to
listener. He could exhibit laurels. They were insignificant;
still, in a district where laurels were infrequent, they might
shine.
He saw his gaping audience picturing him as the central
figure in blazing scenes. And he imagined the consternation
and the ejaculations of his mother and the young lady at the
seminary as they drank his recitals. Their vague feminine
formula for beloved ones doing brave deeds on the field of
battle without risk of life would be destroyed.
Ebd
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Chapter 16
A sputtering of musketry was always to be heard. Later,
the cannon had entered the dispute. In the fog-filled air their
voices made a thudding sound. The reverberations were
continual. This part of the world led a strange, battleful
existence.
The youth's regiment was marched to relieve a command
that had lain long in some damp trenches. The men took
positions behind a curving line of rifle pits that had been
turned up, like a large furrow, along the line of woods.
Before them was a level stretch, peopled with short,
deformed stumps. From the woods beyond came the dull
popping of the skirmishers and pickets, firing in the fog.
From the right came the noise of a terrific fracas.
The men cuddled behind the small embankment and sat
in easy attitudes awaiting their turn. Many had their backs
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