New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1919-02-23


on the fragrant wisps of smoke
that rose from his pipe and scurred aft
with the rush of the wind that softly raked
the deck. He was going home.
He had been through that little business
at Chateau Thierry and going home %
tell the tale. A good many of his pals were
not going home-but he wasn't thinking Of
them just now. Instead, he was thinking
how wonderful it was to be alive and how
great it was to have been in that scrap out
there on the Marine. True, there had been
some parts of the little affair that he had
missed, for the very good reason that some
thing occurred to interfere with his enjoy
ment of the fghting-and the memory Of
it, in way of speaking something that
would have made him boiling mad at the
time if he had been fully aware that it was
happening. He had seen it happen to other
fellows going forward that day, fellows
right beside him, and some ahead of him.
but it had not entered his mind that it
could ever happen to him. 1t did, however,
and he missed quite bit of the excitement
and pleasure
Indeed, the way he had it figured out, he
missed practically everything that happened
in The next fortnight or so after that first
grand dash into the thick of the astonished
Huns. He remembered only that at the
very top of his exaltation, at the crest of
his eagerness and strength-when it seemed
to him that he would never be able to stop
going forward-some amazing, invisible
thing began pushing him backward so
swiftly that he could not keep his feet.
He recalled times before th at
he was surprised, bewildered, puzzled by
this most unnatural thing-and the fact
also that he abruptly decided to lie down
and go to sleep right there on the field Of
INTELLECTUALLY disobeying orders in way
that ought to bring him up before court
martial in short order, and later on, quite
justly, before firing squad.
But now he was going home happy and
reasonably satisfied with everything. He
could, of course, get along quite nicely
without the arm, and as for the smash in
his side-well, that was where people
couldn't see it and would never know about
it unless he told them Che wasn't quite sure
they oughtn't to be satisfied with the empty
sleeve and not go asking too much of him. J.
Besides, it wasn't any worse than the scar
on his cheek, and that was visible to any
one.
Everything looked rosy to Matt the Ma
rine. He had been cited for bravery-a
most astonishing thing to him, for he had
never thought of being else but brave, if
that's what you call wanting to get at the
Huns-and he was feeling very confident of
the future. The Germans were beaten. All
those bully pals Of his had not died in vain.
The world was going to be better-and per-
haps bigger. Anyhow, it was very nice
stretching ones legs and back out here on
deck, in the lee of the deck building with
the midday streaming down on him
from the southland lot of other fellows
lying about taking it easy too. He had had
amazingly satisfying luncheon, and his
de-partner, Tony, had quit grumbling
about the sun hurting his eyes.
The folks at home would be proud Of him
individually, just as the whole nation was
proud of him collectively. He was glad to
be a Marine. He was one of the unfaling
cogs in that fighting machine you read so
much about in the papers-that human
machine you see in the posters under the
caption: "The first to fight" 1t was all
very pleasant, despite slight feeling of
annoyance that it was oil over and he had
got his on the first day instead of the last
day of that important battle. Still, when
you come to think of it, he might have lost
the arm some other way before the war;