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"There, that isn't exactly the fighting-cut, Jack, but 'twill do. Now, boys, tell some more of those dull stories, and I guess I can go to sleep again." And he lay down once more, declining to accept an urgent invitation to preach. "There, boys," said stout Abram Atwater, who had sat all the time cross-legged, a silent, gravely-smiling spectator of the scene, "you shan't fool him any more.
But now the recruiting office was changed into a barber's shop, which seemed to be a tent supported by a striped pole; where, at John Winch's suggestion, he was to have his hair trimmed to the fighting-cut. The barber was a stiff-looking officer in epaulets, who heated a sword red-hot in an oven, while Frank preached to him a neat little sermon over his ration.
Winch glared up at him a moment, a ludicrous picture, with that writhing face and that curious fighting-cut, but cast down his eyes again, sulkily, and said nothing. "Come away, boys," whispered Frank. "Don't stay here, making fun of him. Why do you?" "Jack," said Ellis, "we're going to take a drink. Won't you come along with us?" tauntingly.
One day, on returning to camp after his lesson in the woods, he was astonished to see Jack Winch, with his cap off, his fighting-cut displayed to all beholders, and his fist shaking, marched off by armed soldiers. "What are they doing with Jack?" he hastened to inquire of Abram Atwater, who stood among his comrades with his arms composedly crossed under his cape.
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