Iowa state bystander. [volume] (Des Moines, Iowa) 1894-1916, 1901-05-17
"A PRETTY - -
- - COMPA.N MON

BY Louise Bedford.

direct his steps toward the Horse
guards or Wellington barracks, that
she might gaze in admiration at the
fine, strapping soldiers who were to be
seen there, and every time she pinched
his arm and exclaimed: "Oh, Jack,
look at that lovely soldier!" his heart
gave him pang at the thought that
he was only a Diapers assistant, with
nothing In common with the military
but the handling Of red cloth! He was
a dreamer by nature, and falling in
love did not lessen his weakness in
this direction. Dreaming is pardon
able In poet. but an objectionable
crime in linen Diapers assistant, and
as he stood at his counter his mind
was far away from his work. Instead
of listening to the Forward" of the
shopWalker he could only hear the
short-flung word of command and the
blare of the bugles that sounded
through his dreams; wherefore it was
not long before he came into conflict
with his practical chief A few sharp
words passed. He threw up in three
seconds a position it had taken six
years OF hard, unremitting labor to
attain. Then he enlisted.
He gained his title on his first dis
play in the riding school, where, after
a short ride on the neck of the riding
masters pet buck Jumper, he turned
deathly pale and cried aloud that he
might be allowed to dismount
The horse at once gratified his de-
sire by throwing him on to the tan,
where he lay trembling in every limb,
much to the diversion of couple of
rough riders who were standing by.
They were quick to inform their re-
spective squadrons, and his former oc-
cupation being known, he was prompt
ly christened White Feather.
In those dark days it was the JOY of
the more hardy recruits to take him
aside solemnly and request the service
of three pence three farthings worth
of white feathers. Any morsel of
down or fluff that might float into the
barracks was promptly captured and
presented to him with due ceremonies
by Trumpeter Pipes, the low comedian
of the regiment.
The older men forebore to join in
with these somewhat firing repetitions
of stale joke. They remembered their
own experiences in the riding school
and recognized that White Feather
was quiet and inoffensive fellow, de-
void of the impudence and bad man
ners peculiar to recruits and respectful
and helpful to his seniors.
The sergeant instructor, too, after a
time took fancy to his timid recruit,
and took extra trouble to teach him
how to keep his heels out, his hands
down and his head up.
I've made smart cavalrymen out O.
bigger buffers than YOU" he used to
remark encouragingly as he flicked
White Feathers horse into canter,
"and I'll make rider o. you, or I'll
break your neck!" White Feather
neck remained unbroken, SO it is to be
presumed that the sergeant instructor
fulfilled his word.
Presently he began to lose the hang
dog look of suppressed terror with
which he had been accustomed to enter
the riding school and to acquire the
easy swagger of cavalryman. His
chest, contracted by long hours at the
counter, developed under healthy
training. Fresh air and much exer-
else helped White Feathers develop
ment, which had been sadly retarted
by the heavy, gas-laden atmosphere in
which he had lived. His nerves &C.
quired tone. and he learned to take a
tumble now and then as a matter of
course and to fire his carbine without
shutting his eyes and blanching at the
explosion of the cartridge.
BLOW me, if he isn't going to shape
into a man at last" quoth the SER
gea1:t instructor.
Then great blow fell upon him. He
received one morning letter from the
girl to tell him that she had given him
up in favor Of a shopwalker who had
expectations of being set UP in bust
ness by his father. She admitted that
she had adored soldiers and that she
had caused him to enter the army for
her sake But she had omitted to state
that the soldiers she adored were SOL
diers who possessed the queens COM
mission and who wore stars instead Of
a worsted stripe.
If poor White Feather was a physi-
cal coward, he was moral hero. There
is no chance of display Of feeling in
a barrack room, so, like the Spartan
boy of old, he Rugged his trouble to
him, slipping the cheap little engage
ment ring with which he had sealed
his troth into his pocket without sign
beyond the twitching of his white lips.
Then he lit his pipe with the letter, not
out Of contempt, but because there is
little privacy accorded in the CORE
spondence that comes to the barrack