“I presume they didn’t imagine the foreigners would pour in so rapidly, or that they would advocate so many changes in business, religion, and other things. You see, the Chinaman sticks to ancient things, and wants to do just as his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather did.”
“Has there been any fighting there yet?”
“I can’t say as to that. But the other nations are hurrying troops to the scene; and, when we get there, we are to form part of an Allied Army, composed of English, German, French, Japanese, and other nations.”
“Then it will be China against the world.”
“That’s about the size of it. If we fight side by side with the other nations, it will be rather a new experience for our troops.”
“Right you are, major.” The young lieutenant gazed doubtfully at his dirty and ragged khaki uniform and the shoes which had been patched until there was hardly any of the original leather left. “But we ought to have new outfits before we go.”
“No doubt General MacArthur will see that we get them. He will want Uncle Sam’s boys to look as well as the soldiers of any other nation.”
“Are any of the volunteers going?”
“Not for the present. But there is no telling how many of the troops will have to go before the trouble in China is over,” concluded Major Morris, as he walked on, to spread the news among his other brother officers.
Gilbert Pennington was a young man of Southern blood who had drifted into the army more because of his intense patriotism than for any desire to become a fighter of men. He was from Richmond, Virginia; and, upon the death of his parents and several near relatives, he had wandered around from one place to another, made a trip to the West Indies, and then gone to New York to settle down in business as a book-keeper.