Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 hand while the other shook beneath my nose. “Do you think he’d have lasted with me, if I hadn’t thought he was try- ing? My men are all doing their part. He’s one of my men, and he’ll come through. He’ll come through. D’y’ hear?” This outburst took me by surprise, but I followed his words eagerly, and I could not help admiring the little note of pride which crept into his voice at the end. His change of mind puzzled me, and I re- minded him gently of his former state- ments. Casey was on his feet now with his hands thrust deeply into his belt. I was primed for another outburst as I spoke my rebuke, but the little Sergeant once more took me by surprise. He lowered his head so that his chin rested on his chest, and he teetered on his toes thoughtfully. “I really didn’t mean to call him a quitter,” he said. “I just can’t understand him. I didn’t mean for you to get that impression.” I said nothing. What could I say: He was right. How could a fiery, little, bull-voiced man such as he was under- stand the quiet, soft-spoken, wide-eyed Kid? In my thinking I lowered my head, and, when I raised it, the little Sergeant was gone. I caught a last glimpse of him as he passed by the dirty window, and I’ll swear that I saw a tear run down his cheek. That sobered me. and I rushed to the door to call an apology after him for my indiscretion. He was nowhere in sight. That was the last time I ever saw him. He got his out on the cold, dead fields of No-Man’s- Land while leading his men on to a glori- ous charge. I never knew the story, but somehow or other there comes to my mind, when I read the old clipping an- nouncing his death, the picture of a little, red-haired Sergeant with a grimv tear trickling down one cheek and with his men massed behind with their silverv- bhie bavonets gleaming in the sun as he leads them through a tangled mass of wires, knee-high, onward toward a sparkling line of rifles which spit fire at his every step. I turned back into the room, and there sat Sherman; his usually smiling face was rather sober, and I seemed tc feel a lump in my throat. There is something that strikes your heart and brings it into your throat at the sight of a man crying. Sherman spoke hesitatingly, but to the point, voicing the thought that had been at the back of my brain. “You shouldn’t have forced him. He’s an emotional sort of fellow, and he’s stood a lot of ragging about the Kid. And besides—,” he stopped. “It was none of my affair,” I finished. “That’s right,” he said slowly, nodding his head and clasping his hands tightly behind him. “It was none of your busi- ness, and I guess he felt rather bad about your mentioning it. You, especially, because he’s never had a real friend, to my knowledge. You knew him the most intimately of us all. He treasured your acquaintance. You were hard on him, old top.” I nodded my head slowly; he was right. I wanted to seek Casey and ask his pardon, but some foolish pride checked me. And Casey went on out there, and he never came back. I met the Kid about a year after I re- turned to America. I was in the poorer part of the city, where five and six-story tenements reared their dingy fronts sky- ward. The Kid was swinging along un- consciously in snappy, military style, but his deep blue eyes were troubled and a frown creased his brow. He forced a smile and slowed his gait, and I felt that he wanted to talk. I was right. I knew what his story would be, and the answer which he gave to my playful, “How’s tricks?” was as lengthy as I expected. It was the same story. He had tried hard enough to succeed, but some foolish mis- take had earned him his discharge. I do not even remember his exact words, but I read all this in those marvellously ex- pressive eyes. Their subtle charm had gripped me at his first words, and I stood transfixed reading the story in his eyes and heeding not his voice. But suddenly I snapped out of my trance. I read it in

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD trayed by people long since deceased; I saw future lands of the industries of the morrow; I saw the live industries of the day, and yes, I even saw the graveyard of industries—the city dump. THE KID George Nelson, F.’29 I first met him at Camp --------. He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth with regular leatures, light hair and a friendly, boyish grin. But the most remarkable thing about him was his eyes. They were as big as saucers, and they gave him the appearance of a child in a strange land wondering at all that lay- about him. It was not his eyes, however, which first struck me. For the third morning in succession, Sergeant Casey was bawling him out, and the thundering growl of Casey’s voice penetrated to the furthermost corner of the parade ground. That was nothing unusual in itself, but I thought that I detected a grin on Casey’s face as the youngster turned away. That was unusual. Usually Casey stayed purple with rage after raising his voice to that tone. That might have ended my interest right there but for a little incident that occurred that afternoon. We “non-coms” were in a little group near headquarters when someone spotted the kid. I think it was Sherman, a new- comer from the South. “There,” he drawled, impressively, “is the smartest soldier in the A. E. F.” He continued to relate some of the youngster’s achieve- ments in the same sarcastic tone until Casey, standing idly near him, said slowly and softly through his teeth, “Can’t you talk about something else for a changer Leave the kid alone. He’s all right.” Someone else broke in with a muttered word of approval of Casey’s remark, and Sherman stopped in an em- barrassed sort of way. After that I took notice of the kid. He seemed to be trying hard enough, but he was always making some foolish mistake. He was a thinker, and his brain moved even too slowly for him to snap through the evolutions with the rest of his company with any degree of accuracy. He was conscious ot this, and the result- ing nervousness caused him even more to make slips. At length we went across, and finally after our first baptism of fire and a few weeks of war, real war, our thinned ranks were sent back to billets behind the lines for a couple of weeks. There I met Casey once more and mustered enough nerve to ask him about the kid. I had a certain trepidation as to how Casey would accept my mention of the youngster, probably because I remembered how Sherman had been reproved. However, he opened right up to me and told me the story of his dealings with the youngster. “You fellows call him ‘the kid,’ ” Casey said rather bitterly. “He’s as old as you or I, but it’s those eyes of his that make you think he’s a youngster. He’s beautiful, but dumb. I can call him everything under the sun, but he hasn’t the spunk to even flash an angry look back. He just turns and looks me in the eye and sort of hangs his head. He takes everything so seriously, just like a scolded child. He’s getting on my nerves. He hasn’t shown any fight at all. He takes his war like a rifle practice, picking his shots as coolly as though he were at a lawn party and were showing the other fellows his ability. He gives me a pain.” I nodded to him and then spoke thoughtfully. “He seems to be a pretty spineless case.” Casey shook his head. “No,” he said quickly; “he’s made a mess of everything he’s touched: he’s the black eve of my company, but I’ll give him credit. He just hasn’t got the spirit yet.” “He’s had time.” I pointed out. “Yes, he’s had time enough for an ordinary man.” “Time enough for any man.” I goaded him. “Six months is a long t;me. He hacn’t proved himce1f a man ye .” “He’s tried! God knows, he’s tried! He’-s done his best!” shouted Casev, ris; g to his feet and loanin' across the table between us with his weight resting on one

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16 THE GOLDEN-ROD his eyes before he spoke. There was no complaining or whining in his tone. He spoke as though it was an understood fact. “I’ve tried always, and I’m not quitting now.” I spoke reassuringly, “You’ll get your chance soon, and you’ll get ahead.” But I knew I had lied. He was too slow, too trusting, too dumb (to put it in Casey’s words) to gain fame and recognition in this hard world. It was all so plain. A tinkling crash startled us. The re- mains of a shattered pane of glass lay on the sidewalk, and from a window high above a cloud of smoke billowed forth and slid along the dingy brick front. I thought of the alarm, but he thought of the lives of those trapped in the building. I sprinted for the box, but he entered the burning building to save others. I don’t remember very clearly now what hap- pened. It came so suddenly that I am still rather surprised. It seemed ages before the engines came and ran their hose and ladders up to fight the blaze. By that time, the place was burning like tinder and belching huge clouds of smoke, which billowed and clustered over the blazing building. Fire lines were drawn up, and I was shoved roughly back behind the ropes. Shadowy forms passed in and out of the door, but I did not see the Kid, and an icy hand seemed to grip my heart as I saw the fiames gaining. A sharp order was given, and the ladders came away from the walls; a crack wormed its way across the front of the building. The wall was going to fall. As a gasp ran through the crowd, I raised my eyes from the door to the wall above. At each floor an ornamental iron balcony protruded, and there high above on one of these appeared the figure of an elderly man and at the same time on the balcony above appeared the Kid. One net was spread below. The old man was dizzy. Fie tottered and toppled across the railing insensible. The broken tele- phone wire dangled from the balcony on which the Kid stood and fell to that on which the old man lay. The crack still crept slowly across below them and fiames reached hungry hands to grasp them. The Kid hesitated and saw the man below and the dangling wire; he swiftly reeled it in and looped the end below into a noose. Again I thought of Casey’s words. He was the picture of calmness. He dropped the stiff lariat through the grating and encircled the head and shoulders of the man as they protruded over the railing; and standing amid the coil of surplus wire he strained to raise the body over the railing. The senseless form swung out and then dropped like a plummet as the Kid loosed his hold. The length of wire around the Kid’s feet came too, and there was a sud- den jerk as the body halted its flight to the net below. But only for an instant. The wire snapped, and the upper half remained dangling. I saw what had happened. The wire around the Kid’s feet had snarled, and the weight of the falling body had drawn the Kid’s leg out be- tween the posts of the wrought iron rail- ing; the thickness of his knee prevented its withdrawal. The firemen below retreated with their helpless burden. The Kid struggled wildly for an instant and then, realizing the hopelessness of it all, remained kneel- ing on one knee while the other hung limply outward. Then his eyes caught my attention. He must have been suffering terrible agony, but there was no hint of it in his face. With his elbows crossed and leaning on the railing, he awaited the end. I saw his face as the crumbling wall toppled in- ward and as he fell into that blazing inferno. There was no anger or worry there. His eyes looked upward, wide and starry, into the sky like those of a little child seeking recognition of a deed well done. I know now why Casey had been moved by those eyes, and there came to me the words of that little, red-haired Sergeant. “He tried. God knows, he tried.”