HE MAKES A HIGH RESOLVE AND LOSES A FAVORITE WORD
Miss Margaret Ellison, the stenographer in the Temple Camp office, had once pronounced judgment on Tom. It was that if he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it. There was something about his big mouth and his dogged scowl which made this prophecy seem likely of fulfilment.
And now, silently, he threw his challenge down before Fate, before Germany, before barbed wire entanglements—before everything and everybody. He did not know whether they ever paroled ordinary prisoners, but he hoped they would not parole him, because then he would be bound by honor. And he did not want to be bound by honor. He kept his hand in his pocket, grasping his precious button, and it was well that the German officials did not know what was in his mind.
“I ain’t goin’ to be cheated out of it now,” he said to himself; “I don’t care what.”
All day long they journeyed in the box car, but Tom could see nothing of Germany save an occasional glimpse now and then when the sliding door was opened at the stations, usually to admit more prisoners. Whatever became of the men from the British trawler he never knew, but his jack-tar companions were with him still and helped to keep up his spirits. He never knew them by any other names than Freddie and Tennert—the first name of one and the last name of the other—but so great was his liking for them that it included the whole of sturdy, plodding, indomitable old England into the bargain. They never talked patriotism, and seemed to regard the war merely as a sort of a job that had to be done—just like any other job. Early in the day before the car filled up, Tom talked a good deal with them and as there was no guard inside, the conversation was free.
“When you said, ‘Shh’,” said Tom at one time, “I knew what you was thinkin’ about. I was never in a war,” he added innocently, “so I don’t know much about it. But if I was sent to jail for—say, for stealing—I wouldn’t think I had a right to escape.”
“You’d be a pretty honorable sort of a thief,” said Freddie.
“But, anyway,” said Tom, “I was going to ask you about escapin’ from a military prison. That ain’t dishonorable, is it?”
“No, strike me blind, it ain’t! But it’s jolly ’ard!” said Tennert.
“It’s fer them to keep yer and fer you to grease off, if you can,” said Freddie. “If you give your parole, it’s like a treaty——”