“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” was the answer.
“Chunky is worrying so much about whether or not he will have enough to eat that he doesn’t know whether the sun is shining or whether it’s a rainy day,” laughed a friend on the other side of the stout lad.
“Well, I like my meals,” said the stout one, and there was more laughter.
On and on marched the young soldiers. Their officers watched them closely, not only to gain a knowledge of the characteristics of the men, but to note any who might be in distress, and also for signs of stragglers who might purposely delay the march from a spirit of sheer laziness. The younger officers were given points on the method of marching and the care of their men by those who had been through the ordeal before. It was a sort of school for all concerned.
The day was hot, and the roads were dusty, and to trudge along under those circumstances with seventy pounds, more or less, strapped to one’s back was difficult and trying work. But there was very little grumbling. Each man knew he had to do his bit, and, after all, there was a reason for everything, and a deep spirit of patriotism had possession of all.
Now and then some one started a song, and the chorus was taken up by all who could hear the air. This singing was encouraged by the officers, for there is nothing that makes for better spirit than a strain of music or a song on the march.
They passed through a farming country, and on all sides were evidences of the work of the farmers. The injunction from Washington to raise all possible seemed to have been taken to heart by the agriculturists.
Among the volunteers were many boys from cities, who had never seen much of country life, and some of their remarks were amusing, as they noted what was being done on the farms.
During one of the halts, when Ned, Bob and Jerry, with some of their chums, were resting beside the road near a farmhouse, Jerry saw a somewhat lively scene being enacted near the red barn which was part of the farm outfit. Pug Kennedy and one or two of his cronies were chasing some chickens.
As Jerry watched, he saw Pug knock a chicken down with the butt of his rifle, and then seize the stunned fowl, and slip it inside his shirt, which was big and baggy. Just as the scrapper did this a man came out of the barn and began to remonstrate with the soldiers, of whom Pug was one. But the Cresville friends noted that Pug walked away and came toward them. The bulge in his shirt, made where he had hidden the chicken, was plain to be seen.