“A bloomin’ scrap o’ piper,” interrupted Tennert. “They wouldn’t put you on yer honor because they don’t know what honor is. It ain’t in Fritzie’s old dictionary.”
Tom was glad to think of it in this way. It’s for them to keep you and for you to grease off (which evidently meant “get away”). He had great respect for the opinions of these two Britishers and his mind dwelt upon this only hope even before he had so much as a glimpse of his prison.
He meant to fight with the American forces, in spite of Fate and in spite of Germany. Germany had armed guards and barbed wire entanglements. Tom, on his side, had an iron button, a big mouth, a look of dogged determination, a sense of having been grossly cheated after he had made a considerable investment in time and a good deal of scout pluck and Yankee resource. The only thing that had stood in the way was the question of honor, and that was now settled on the high authority of the British navy! Who but sturdy old John Bull had come forward when Belgium was being violated? And now a couple of John Bull’s jack-tars had told him that it was for Germany to keep him and for him to get away if he could.
He was on the point of telling them of his double reason for wanting to escape; that he had to fight for two—himself and his brother. Then he thought he wouldn’t for fear they might not understand.
But he made up his mind that henceforth all his efforts and activities should be of double strength—to make up. He would think twice as hard, work twice as hard, fight twice as hard. Above all he would try twice as hard as he otherwise would have done, to get out of this predicament and get to the battlefront. He was glad of his scout training which he thought might help him a great deal now. And he would put every quality he had to the supreme test.
“Do you believe,” he asked, after a considerable silence, “that a feller can do more, kind of, if he’s doing his own work and—I mean if he thinks he’s got to do two people’s work—for a special reason?”
Freddie did not seem quite to “get” him, but Tennert answered readily, “You jolly well can! Look at Kippers wot cime ’ome fer orspital treatment arfter Verdoon. ’E lived in Chelsea. ’Is pal got sniped an’ Fritzie took ’is shoes. They’re awrful short o’ shoes. Kippers, ’e s’ys, ‘I’ll not l’y down me rifle till I plunk[4] a German and get ’is shoes.’ Two d’ys arfter ’e comes crawlin’ back through No Man’s Land and the color sergeant arsks ’im did ’e carry out ’is resolootion. ‘Yes,’ s’ys ’e, ‘but blimy, I ’ad to plunk seven Germans before I could get a pair o’ clods to fit me.’ ’E was usin’ ’is pal’s strength too besides ’is own. Any Tommy’ll tell yer a lad wot’s dyin’ on the field can leave ’is fightin’ spunk to anyone ’e pleases.” Tom stared open-eyed. He found it easy to believe this superstition of Tommy Atkins’. And he made up his mind anew that he would square matters with Uncle Sam by doing the work of two.
In the afternoon this pleasant chatting was made impossible by the numbers of military prisoners who were herded into the rough box car. They had come far enough south to be abreast of Belgium now and there must lately have been a successful German raid along the Flanders front, for both British and Belgian soldiers were driven aboard by the score. All of the British seemed exactly like Tennert and Freddie, cheerful, philosophical, chatting about Fritzie and the war as if the whole thing were a huge cricket game. Some of these were taken off farther down the line, to be sent to different camps, Tom supposed.
At last, after an all day’s ride, they reached their destination. But alas, there was no such place as Slopsgotten! Tom was sorry for this for he liked the name. It sounded funny when his English friends said it. Schlaabgaurtn, was the way he read it on the railroad station. He felt disappointed and aggrieved. He was by no means sure of the letters, and pronunciation was out of the question. He liked Slopsgotten. In Tennert’s mouth he had almost come to love it.