New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-10-28
Blu Helen Hayes Gleason

never lost money. This was close by SOL
diers' camp He coined money there. But
after little while, even though ne is taking
money, the novelty wears off, and the old call
to return to the army comes.
He said:
IL don't care how homely a person is, or
anything, there's always one person loves
'em. Now, my mother loved me. l know
she loved me-Im not so sure about my
old dad. He would not let me do all the
things I wanted to. But my mother, she
would Anything she had was mine"
He is in the cavalry. He hates 1t be-
cause an officer has the power TO take ones
horse, If he wishes, after you have broken
and trained him. Once, before leaving the
service, he shot his horse rather than sell
him to an officer and lose track of him.
But there are not many men OF this type
In our army; a few regulars and good
many roughnecks. They look out for them
selves.
The boys meet all the time, the boys
that make my heart ache are those OF SIX
teen-boys who have lied about their ages
In order to get in or who have changed the
figures in the certificates made out by their
fathers stating their ages.
A HOmesick Boy
One day | came out of the end of the hut.
1t was in the middle of the afternoon. There
were not many people around. / very nearly
stumbled over a boy who had been waiting
apparently for some time. | said, Hello"
to him, and he got very much embarrassed.
He was sitting on box. "Can have few
minutes with you, miss?" We sat down to-
gether 1t was very evident he was longing
to talk and that he was in trouble. He start
ed right off with this:
"If you was fifty years old and had a
boy like me, what would you want him
to do ~
This boy was physically and mentally SICK
He was the sickest boy | have seen, and II
was all worry, because he felt he had not
made good He was SO sick and so self
conscious that he could not look at me at
all; he could not meet my eye except a.,
he turned round and said: Look at my
eyes, you can tell what | mean" His eyes
were bloodshot. He was not able TO eat;
he could not sleep. He worried all the time
about everything. He was on the debating
committee in his school at home, was al
ways up in his studies, and when the call
came for volunteers he was one Of the first
to join up in his village, and every one was
proud of him. His friends gave him watch
as a going-away present, and his mother
and everybody believed that he was doing
the right thing, and that he was going to
do we'll and nobly. And here, after many
weeks, he had found nothing but monotony
and very rigorous training, which, / think,
were more than his strength could endure
He could not see that he was making good.
He couldn't realize that going through this
routine and keeping up with the routine
was making good. He felt that his people
and his friends expected something pict-
uresque. And he worried himself sick, for
he didn't think that he deserved their be-
lief or that watch they had given him. Vie
wanted very much to be transferred to some
kind of duty with mule teams. He under
stood mules, and he thought that would help
him to get back his physical strength.
He said: "All armies are alike; they don't
care about fellow. | have been to the
infrmary and they won't do anything be-
cause I'm not actually sick in bed. But"
ne said, my mind is sick, and can't
stop thinking" He was under age. asked
him to come back after he had seen his
lieutenant, to tell me whether he could be
transferred for little while. He said he
would but never once did he look at me
in all this time. Then without any warn
ing at all he fed across the field.
The second day he came, sort OF shying
by the counter, and | recognized him. He
spoke. I went out in the front Of the
hut alone TO give him an opportunity to
come up and talk He came up almost at