Detroit evening times. (Detroit, Mich) 1921-1958, 1941-03-09
Continued from Page Is)

guild wriggles he disinterred a
pack Of flabby cigarettes. took
a match from the band of the de-
graded hat. With one-handed
economy Of motion he lighted his
smoke. drawled from one corner
of his mouth. with slow dignity:
II don't figure he'll fire me-"
There was a quiet reproach in
the tone and Jeff Lane felt lit
tie tingle of shame at having said
cheap thing. even In jest. The
people who lived along the bay.
people who mattered. knew the
legend of Corporal Kehoe and
Major Emory Mallard.
1t was a poetic and poignant
story, made gripping by its stark
drama. 1t had begun in concen-
tration camp and marc h d
through the muddy hell of
Flanders and France to the sour
rumble of guns. 1t had endured
through the anguish Of field hos
pitfalls and through loneliness and
isolation and all the sick, mad
torture of war. 1t was a story of
devotion almost Biblical in its
simplicity. so splendid that it
made men humble when they
heard 1t. as Jeff Lane was feeling
humble now.
He said, Sorry, Corporal. l
was joking you know"
Corporal Kehoe blew a thin
feather of smoke and the wrath
of il lay on the air like an added,
bitter reproof.
II don't like them kind of
jokes" he said.
The hat came down and hid his
eyes again and Jeff went on
painting. self-consciously. feeling
a little like a man who has
=whistied a dance tune in church.
The sun was already hot and
back on the mainland thousand
orange trees filled the air with
the heady incense of their bloom
ing. II was like something alive.
that perfume. travelling the land
wind, drifting out TO sea.
To young man, that pervad-
ing sweetness of the Florida
spring was apt to be dizzying,
breeding dreams and sweet wild
fancies. And Jeff Lane was still
young. though the sun had dried
him TO the nutty provinces Of
walnuts. and life had taken his
dreams and twisted them into
gargnyle things with wry faces.
things he flinched from admit
ting or remembering.
ORANGE blossoms were the
~ fragrance of young love, and
love for JEFF was over forever, so
it appeared. Love had showed him
a brief bright face. and after that.
these last few weeks, a cruelty
so keen that he was trying to
grow tough. bitter scars to hide
the wound. He told himself
grimly that the Towering of the
trees meant for him only that the
grove owners had better begin
spraying and that the Spring
sailing races were imminent.
What il meant TO Corporal Ke-
hoe nobody knew. He was asleep.
He slept on through a baying
pandemonium of dogs barking.
and Jeff had at last TO put down
his brush and prod the lank
slumberer with his toe. The Cor
poral opened his mouth first and
then his eyes, blinked, gulped.
suffered.
There's a racket up at the
house and George is yelling for
you. l Just heard car come
over the bridge" Jeff said.
The Corporal was instantly on
his feet, the incensed expression
of one who has been betrayed on
his long face.
He told me he was going to
be gone two-three days" he
grumbled, What's he coming in
on me sudden for?"
Maybe it's somebody else"
mo, it amt. Hear them dogs?
It's him-and her. l can tell the
way that Dugald dog is squeal-
ing. like he was about to break
his heart he's so glad. They've
come back-and me not even
shaved"
The Corporal departed, sham
bling quickly. Jeff went on paint
ing. but his motions were me-
chanical now. though he kept his
eyes sternly on the job. His ears
were straining for sounds from
the big Spanish house back
among the trees. He heard the
delirious delight of the Mallard
collies die. heard the bugling of
the champion, Dugald, die on a