CHAPTER XIX
Claude and his men, B Company, were holding the Boar’s Head trench. He knew that the German attack might be expected about dawn. The smoke and darkness had begun to take on the livid color that announced the coming of daybreak, when a corporal hurried to him, saluted and announced that the linemen had completed the connection and that Claude was called on the telephone.
He went to the dug-out, took down the receiver.
“Lieutenant Wheeler, in command B Company in H-2, speaking.”
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“What? Miss Willa? For the land’s sake, what’re you doing way out here?”
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“Course you are, Miss Willa. I know that, but you hadn’t ought to come out in such a dangerous place, just to look out for me. Really, ma’am, I’m getting along all right. You don’t have to tell me every little thing.”
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“You want me to what?”
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“On the parapet when the attack comes? You don’t mean really do it, Miss Willa!”
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“Why, good Lord, Miss Willa, I wouldn’t do that for a farm. They’ll be shootin’ honest-to-God lead bullets!”
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“I got to do it? How’s that? I don’t see why.”
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“Yes’m, I know that. I know you are. I read it in a piece in a magazine. Said you were one of America’s serious novelists. Yes’m, called you a serious artist of high purpose, the piece did.”
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“But, say, you know that’s awful dangerous. I might easy get killed.”
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“You expect me to? Look here, lady, I don’t know what you’re driving at.”
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“Oh, yes, o’ course, I know that. I know I got to do what you say after I signed up with you.”
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“No’m, I might not be. I know that. I might be in the draft at a trainin’ camp or somewhere back there or prob’ly I’d got exempted on account of bein’ the only one on the farm—if it wasn’t for you.”
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“Well, if you was right out in this trench now I don’t think you’d think there was any special thanks due for your gettin’ me here.”
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“No, ma’am! I don’t! I ain’t hungry for just that kind o’ glory. You bet not. I’ll be satisfied to go home alive.”
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“Oh, Lord, yes! I got plenty to do when I get home.”
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“How’s that? Spoiled? Oh, no, Miss Willa, my life ain’t spoiled yet, but I’ve got a hunch it would be if I got up on that parapet. Oh, no, I’ve got a lot o’ plans. Don’t you worry about that. Ain’t many young fellows gets their life spoiled at twenty-three.”
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“My wife? Sure, she’s left me, all right. An’, Miss Willa, I hope you won’t get mad if I say I think that was really your fault. I’m pretty sure Enid wouldn’t of gone to China ’f you hadn’t kind of mesmerized her and made her go. I think ’f you’d a let her alone, she’d be on the farm now.”
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“Yes’m, she did. She went, all right, and I’m not sure she’s comin’ back, but if she don’t, why—I don’t know as I’d die of grief. You see, she was a kind of cold proposition. Her and I never—oh, well, there’s plenty more. Gladys, f’r instance. An’ that’s another thing I kind of got against you, Miss Willa. If you’d left the three of us alone, I think me and Gladys might of——”
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“Oh, yes, course I know that—there wouldn’t of been much of a book ’f you hadn’t mixed in some. Still, ’f I get home I think I can straighten things out. After I get a good rest on the farm, I’m thinkin’ some of goin’ into the movies. Put a pair of goggles on me an’ you couldn’t tell me from Harold Lloyd.”
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“No’m, I ain’t tryin’ to get off the point.”
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“Go out on that parapet when the attack begins an’ get killed? No, ma’am, I most certainly an’ absolutely will not.”
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“Yes’m, I know it. I told you I know you’re a serious novelist an’ I suppose you got to do those kind o’ things to make it tragic and important an’ all that, so’s not to have a happy endin’.”
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“No’m, I don’t think it is natural, if that’s what you want. There ain’t only about six killed in action out of a thousand Americans in this war, an’ I don’t see why you pick on me. How’d I get elected?”
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“Yes, ma’am, I said three times already I know you’re serious. Good lan’! Miss Willa, I ought to know. Why, I ain’t had a real good laugh, hardly once since I begun working for you. But you don’t seem to understand I’m serious, too, an’ this whole business you’re proposin’ is more serious to me than it’s got any chance of bein’ to you. I’ve got a lot of things to do in the next fifty years.”
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“No, lady, I will not.”
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“Well, first place, that’s no place for an officer in command. Officers are supposed to take care of theirselves an’ not expose theirselves unnecessarily. They got to look out for their men, not try to be heroes or anything.”
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“Well, I s’pose it will. But, see here, if I’ve got to choose between spoilin’ the book an’ gettin’ spoiled myself—forever, it’s only natural, ain’t it?—Say, listen! D’you ever go to the movies?”
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“Oh, excuse me. I thought maybe you might of once or twice.”
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“Oh, nothin’. Never mind. But, say, have I really got to get shot on the parapet? Won’t anything else do?”
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“A-a-ll right, then. I s’pose I got to. I’ll manage it somehow. You leave it to me. Don’t you worry.”
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“Don’t mention it. That’s all right. Anything to oblige a serious lady novelist. Good-by, Miss Willa.”
Claude was very busy for the next fifteen minutes. Just as he again took his position on the firing-step, the Hun advance began.
There they were, coming on the run. His men were on their feet again. The rifles began firing. Then something extraordinary happened. There was their commanding officer on the parapet, outlined against the Eastern sky! Stiffly erect he stood, one arm upraised, facing the oncoming foe. They heard his voice, “Steady, men! Steady! It’s up to you!”
They were amazed, astounded, but they responded. A withering fire swept the Hun lines, men were stumbling and falling. Then the solitary figure on the parapet was discovered by the enemy. A bullet rattled on the tin hat, one struck it in the shoulder. It swayed, lost its balance, plunged, face down, outside the parapet. Hicks caught a projecting foot, pulled—and it came off in his hand.
At the same moment the Missourians ran yelling up the communication trench, threw their machine-guns up on the sand-bags and went into action.
Hicks stood petrified, staring at the foot in his hand, when Claude, clad in his Jaegers only, appeared, reached out and dragged the limp figure in by both legs.
“Here, Sergeant, help me with this to the dug-out, so I can get my clothes on before it gets too public.”
“My God, Lieutenant, I thought you was killed. What’s this for? To fool the Heinies?”
“No—that was for the home-folks that read serious novels.”