Soldiers Pay Read Online Free Page A

the lurching car.
    Private Gilligan turned to his companion. “Well! What do you know about that? Ain’t that one hell of a way to treat soldiers? I tell you, General, this is the worst run war I ever seen.”
    â€œHell, let’s drink out of the bottle.”
    â€œNo, no! This thing has got to be a point of honour, now. Remember, we got to protect our uniform from insult. You wait here and I’ll see the conductor. We bought tickets, hey, buddy?”
    With officers gone and officers’ wives
    Having the grand old time of their lives——
    an overcast sky, and earth dissolving monotonously into a grey mist, greyly. Occasional trees and houses marching through it; and towns like bubbles of ghostly sound beaded on a steel wire——
    Who’s in the guard-room chewing the bars,
    Saying to hell with the government wars?
    Cadet!
    And here was Gilligan returned, saying: “Charles, at ease.”
    I might have known he would have gotten another one, thought Cadet Lowe, looking up. He saw a belt and wings, he rose and met a young face with a dreadful scar across his brow. My God he thought, turning sick. He saluted and the other peered at him with strained distraction. Gilligan, holding his arm, helped him into the seat. The man turned his puzzled gaze to Gilligan and murmured, “ Thanks.”
    â€œLootenant,” said Gilligan, “you see here the pride of the nation. General, ring the bell for ice water. The lootenant here is sick.”
    Cadet Lowe pressed the bell, regarding with a rebirth of that old feud between American enlisted men and officers of all nations the man’s insignia and wings and brass, not even wondering what a British officer in his condition could be doing travelling in America. Had I been old enough or lucky enough, this might have been me, he thought jealously.
    The porter reappeared.
    â€œNo drinking in this car, I told you,” he said. Gilligan produced a bill. “No, sir. Not in this car.” Then he saw the third man. He leaned down to him quickly, then glanced suspiciously from Gilligan to Lowe.
    â€œWhat you all doing with him?” he asked.
    â€œOh, he’s just a lost foreigner I found back yonder. Now, Ernest——”
    â€œLost? He ain’t lost. He’s from Gawgia. I’m looking after him. Cap’m”—to the officer—“is these folks all right?”
    Gilligan and Lowe looked at each other. “Christ, I thought he was a foreigner,” Gilligan whispered.
    The man raised his eyes to the porter’s anxious face. “Yes,” he said slowly, “they’re all right.”
    â€œDoes you want to stay here with them, or don’t you want me to fix you up in your place?”
    â€œLet him stay here,” Gilligan said. “He wants a drink.”
    â€œBut he ain’t got no business drinking. He’s sick.”
    â€œLoot,” Gilligan said, “do you want a drink?”
    â€œYes, I want a drink. Yes.”
    â€œBut he oughtn’t to have no whisky, sir.”
    â€œI won’t let him have too much. I am going to look after him. Come on, now, let’s have some glasses, can’t we?”
    The porter began again. “But he oughtn’t——”
    â€œSay, Loot,” Gilligan interrupted, “can’t you make your friend here get us some glasses to drink from?”
    â€œGlasses?”
    â€œYeh! He don’t want to bring us none.”
    â€œDoes you want glasses, Cap’m?”
    â€œYes, bring us some glasses, will you?”
    â€œAll right, Cap’m.” He stopped again. “You going to take care of him, ain’t you?” he asked Gilligan.
    â€œSure, sure!”
    The porter gone, Gilligan regarded his guest with envy. “You sure got to be from Georgia to get service on this train. I showed him money but it never even shook him. Say, General,” to Lowe, “we better keep the lootenant