§ 354 Just Before the Shooting Started
Just before hostilities ended in 1918, a young lieutenant of my acquaintance was detailed to duty as a drill officer at a camp of colored draft troops in Mississippi.
He said that late one night he was returning from a near-by town to his quarters. As he neared the sentry lines, out of the darkness came a voice calling: “Halt!”
He halted, gave the countersign and started on. Immediately, in the gloom, there was a rattle as of a rifle being shifted in the sentry’s hands and again the same voice cried: “Halt!”
“You’ve halted me once already,” he said sharply, rightly figuring that the unseen one must be a green trooper, “and I’ve given you the password. What more do you want?”
“But, boss,” said the sentry, drawing nearer, “I don’t know you.”
“Very probable,” said the captain. “What has that got to do with it?”
“It’s got a whole heap to do wid it. W’en the sergeant put me yere to-night he p’intedly sez to me dat ef somebody comes by w’ich is a stranger to me I is to cry ‘Halt!’ th’ee times an’ den shoot ’im.”
§ 355 The Limit of Helplessness
Only too often does the average after-dinner speaker reach a point where he has nothing to say and yet feels that he must say it. Usually he does, too,—at great length. I know, because in my time, before I reformed, I was addicted to the vice of after-dinner speaking myself.