The Martial Adventures of Henry and Me. William Allen White
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William Allen White
The Martial Adventures of Henry and Me
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066151300
Table of Contents
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE MARTIAL ADVENTURES OF HENRY AND ME
APPENDIX A
CHAPTER
I IN WHICH WE BEGIN OUR SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY
II IN WHICH WE OBSERVE THE "ROCKET'S RED GLARE"
III IN WHICH WE ENCOUNTER "BOMBS BURSTING IN AIR"
IV WHEREIN WE FIND THAT "OUR FLAG IS STILL THERE"
V IN WHICH WE DISCERN THINGS "BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT"
VI WHEREIN WE BECOME A TRIO AND JOURNEY TO ITALY
VII WHEREIN WE CONSIDER THE WOMAN PROPOSITION
VIII IN WHICH WE DISCOVER "A NEW HEAVEN AND A NEW EARTH"
IX IN WHICH WE RETURN TO "THE LAND OF THE FREE"
ILLUSTRATIONS
Frontispiece
And at that it seems a lot of money to pay for a rig which can be worn at most only two months
"You'll have to put out that cigar, sir"
She often paced the rounds of the deck between us
"Col-o-nel, will you please carry my books?"
So we waved back at them so long as they were in sight
"Donnez moi some soap here and be mighty blame toot sweet about it!"
Eight inches short in one waistband is a catastrophe
One of our party climbed to the roof of the dugout
"Come on! Let's go to the abri!"
So we went back—me holding those khaki trousers up by sheer force of will and both hands!
He had some trouble lighting his cigarette and was irritated for a second at his inconvenience
"Oh, yes," answered the Eager Soul to our enquiring eyes. "Mrs.
Chessman—this is practically her hospital"
He was a rare bird; this American going on a big drunk on water
Henry puffed on his dreadnaught pipe and left the lady from Oklahoma
City to me
And he sat cross-legged
As we sat in the car he came down the street beating a snare drum
They were standing on the running board all this time with the train going forty miles an hour
"What part of the States do you Canadians come from?"
He told us what happened impersonally as one who is listening to another man's story in his own mouth
A fat man can't wear the modern American army uniform without looking like a sack of meal
He wore a scarlet coat of unimaginable vividness, a cutaway coat of glaring scarlet broadcloth
We thought he might be testing us out as potential spies
And we felt like prize boobs suddenly kidnapped from a tacky party and dropped into a grand ball
"Well now, sir, you wouldn't be wearing those brown shoes to Lord
Bryce's tea, would you, Mr. White?"
THE MARTIAL ADVENTURES OF HENRY AND ME
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH WE BEGIN OUR SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY
By rights Henry, being the hero of this story, should be introduced in the first line. But really there isn't so much to say about Henry—Henry J. Allen for short, as we say in Kansas—Henry J. Allen, editor and owner of the Wichita Beacon. And to make the dramatis personae complete, we may consider me as the editor of the Emporia Gazette, and the two of us as short, fat, bald, middle-aged, inland Americans, from fresh water colleges in our youth and arrived at New York by way of an often devious, yet altogether happy route, leading through politics where it was rough going and unprofitable for years; through business where we still find it easy to sign, possible to float and hard to pay a ninety-day note, and through two country towns; one somewhat less than one hundred thousand population, and Emporia slightly above ten thousand.
We are discovered in the prologue to the play in New York City wearing our new silk suits to give New York a treat on a hot August day. Not that we or any one else ever wears silk suits in any Wichita or Emporia; silk suits are bought by Wichita people and Emporians all over the earth to paralyse the natives of the various New Yorks.
In our pockets we hold commissions from the American Red Cross. These commissions are sending us to Europe as inspectors with a view to publicity later, one to speak for the Red Cross, the other to write for it in America. We have been told by the Red Cross authorities in Washington that we shall go immediately to the front in France and that it will be necessary to have the protective colouring of some kind of an army uniform. The curtain rises on a store in 43rd Street in New York—perhaps the "Palace" or the "Hub" or the "Model" or the "Army and Navy," where a young man is trying to sell us a khaki coat, and shirt and trousers for $17.48. And at that it seems a lot of money to pay for a rig which can be worn at most only two months. But we compromise by making him throw in another shirt and a service hat and we take the lot for $17.93 and go away holding in low esteem the "pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war" as exemplified