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"You're all right, Captain Nemo! only I'm going to be so brash as to call you Larry after this," Dick had said. "If you'll let me, you and I are going to be buddies." He was all right, Dick was. Dick Sherwood was a thoroughbred. And there was another matter which had pleased him.
Come vividly back into the scene the winter funerals in that yard of our buddies, brave men who, loving life, had been laid away there, having died soldier-like for a cause they had only dimly understood. And the crosses now rise up, mute, eloquent testimony to the cost of this strange, inexplicable war of North Russia. We cast off from the dirty quay and steamed out to sea.
Chiefly of our own buddies we recall such stories to be sure, but in justice to the memory of some of the many fine men of other lands who served with us we print a page or two of anecdotes about them.
Here we were brought before the camp commandant who roughly stripped us of all our clothes except our breeches and gave us the Bolshevik underwear and ragged outer garments that they had discarded. And buddies who have seen Bolo prisoners come into our lines can imagine how bad a discarded Bolo coat or undershirt must be.
Look, if I can ever get out o' this, I've got a hunch I can make a good thing writing movie scenarios. I want to get on in the world, Skinny." "But, Kid, you won't be able to go back to the States." "I don't care. New Rochelle's not the whole world. They got the movies in Italy, ain't they?" "Sure. Let's go to bed." "All right. Look, you an' me are buddies from now on, Skinny."
As we think of the young boy who died of continually taking drugs and felt that he could "handle" his own life, we see how he chose to travel the wrong road. Even though his buddies saw what had happened to him they were so stuck on drugs that they, too, thought they could still "handle" their lives. What a mistake they are making and I am sure you are convinced of that fact.
Maister Cameron's gone, an' the auld buddies are slippin' awa fast, an' whiles Ah hae little patience wi' the new fangled notions. Will the country be a God-fearin' one, Ah wonder, when we're a' awa?" It was the question and also the tragedy of their lives, the question Duncan Polite's whole life was given up towards answering.
Then those two great buddies vanished together for a full hour to take in some very special, not publicly programmed Sensations Unlimited in the Dawn City's Inferno. Lyad had smiled after them as they left. "Aren't men disgusting?" she said tolerantly. That reflected on her, didn't it? She was supposed to be very good friends with somebody like that!
Mo's eyebrows lifted as she looked down at her. "I'm glad you could come," she said, extending her hand. "I hope you find some things you like." She indicated the photographs hanging on the walls. "There are more in the next room. Rob?" She beckoned to a portly man with rimless glasses. "Rob, you must meet Joe and his friend, Rhiannon. Joe and I are old buddies." "How do you do." They shook hands.
It amused him to reflect that he was probably the only person in Williamsport who knew that. On the way home, a boy, sitting on the top step of a front porch, hailed him. Allan replied cordially, trying to remember who it was. Of course; Larry Morton! He and Allan had been buddies. They probably had been swimming, or playing Commandos and Germans, the afternoon before.
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