Lank used to be something of a baseball player. In fact he's still on the rolls of a certain National League club and back in 1914 it was Lank's mighty swatting that won the world's championship for his team.
Next to General Pershing himself and a few other generals, Lank is about the most popular soldier in France. When his regiment—once of the National Guard—comes swinging down the pike the sidelines are jammed with other soldiers who crane their necks to get a peek at him.
Lank always carries the colors. He's now color-sergeant.
"So that fella's Lank, the great ball player," you can hear one doughboy say to another. "Well, I'll be doggonned. Looks just like any other soldier, don't he?"
"What you expect to see?" will ask a soldier who has worshipped Lank's batting average for lo! these many years. "Didja expect to see a fella wearin' a baseball uniform and carryin' a bat over his shoulder? Sure, that's Lank. Hello, Lank, howja like soldiering?"
Lank will look out of the corner of his eye and then, sure that no officer is looking, reply out of the corner of his mouth:
"We're on to the Kaiser's curves, boys. We'll hit everything those Huns pitch for home runs. No strike outs in this game!"
Lank is the life of his regiment. In his "stove league" this Winter he has organized all kinds of baseball leagues and next Spring he's going to lead a championship team against all soldier comers.
If General Pershing isn't too busy Lank will try and get him to umpire some afternoon.