“Well, Fido, old comrade, I have told you my story, and it is now nearly midnight, so we must say good night. There is nobody to complain when I keep late hours, but it’s different with you. Good jobs are scarce, and I don’t want you to risk losing yours. I will see you next Tuesday evening if you like.
“Hello! it’s raining. There’s a cold wind blowing too. Awful weather for the rheumatism and mange, isn’t it? You’ll get that pretty blanket wet, Fido, my boy.”
“Oh, drat the blanket!” said Fido, “I’ll hurry along though. Good night, Tommy.”
“Good night, Fido, good night.”
JOHNNY
A STORY OF THE PHILIPPINES
Johnny was a typic gamin from the Chicago slums. He never denied it, and it would have been useless if he had; the ear marks were too plain. What had impelled him to enter the volunteer service was a mystery. Some of the men in the —th Illinois had been heard to say at the company mess, that a difference of opinion upon matters ethical between Johnny and the police was the main-spring that had worked the little tough army-ward. Pertinent inquiries directed at the boy himself had ceased abruptly when big Tom O’Brien, the battalion sergeant major, got through swearing, and rubbing the bump on his head with which Johnny, through the medium of an accurately aimed canteen, had decorated him. Tom wound up with, “Byes, the little divil is too small to lick, an’ too big to monkey wid, so I’ll sarve yez notice that Mr. T. O’Brien, Esq. will attind to his own business hereafter. An’ be Jasus,” he added significantly, “the rist av ye’ll do the same, for be the same token, I notice yez all be bigger than Johnny.” It was obvious that the boy did not need a protector, but nevertheless, the warm-hearted Irishman’s attitude toward him was a peace promoter in no mean degree.
No one had ever accused Johnny of patriotism. He knew all about the blowing up of the Maine and thought it was a shabby piece of business, the perpetrators of which should be punished. “But,” he added sagely, “they ain’t hangin’ none o’ them strikin’ railroad guys, fer wreckin’ trains and sluggin’ scabs, an’ I guess there ain’t much difference. There’s a lot o’ dead an’ smashed up folks, any way you fix it.”
It was evidently a hopeless task to try and elucidate for Johnny patriotic reasons for the war with Spain. His philosophy was too strong to cope with.
When Johnny first joined the regiment he was not a creditable specimen from a physical standpoint. A subtle sympathy with the under dog in the breast of the regimental surgeon, Major Brice, was mainly responsible for the mustering in of the unpromising recruit. Slouchy in gait, under-sized, weazened, lanky and round shouldered, with the air of one pursued, the boy was as unsoldier-like as could possibly be imagined. He said he was nineteen, but it did not require a professional eye to detect the fraud—a fraud of several years—without much doubt.