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The strains came down to the youth on the campus through the giant oak trees that half obscured the facade of "old Brighton." Over on the athletic field a bunch of freshmen "rookies" of the school battalion were being put through the manual of arms by an instructor. Jack could hear the command: "Present arms!" "I guess that means me," he said to himself. And why not?
"Mahn's Chrisfield." "Mine's Andrews." "How soon's it take a feller to git out o' this camp?" "Dunno. Some guys says three weeks and some says six months.... Say, mebbe you'll get into our company. They transferred a lot of men out the other day, an' the corporal says they're going to give us rookies instead." "Goddam it, though, but Ah want to git overseas."
"Under fire?" This sharp reply from the Sergeant. "I was in the last raid after Vimy Ridge, Sir. Brenzer, the pilot, was killed. I managed to get back to our lines." "You been over some time?" "Yes, Sir. Only part of the time I was stationed at Aldershot, as assistant trainer for a bunch of raw rookies from our side." One long look at both Anson gave, then turned away with: "You'll do.
It was a fascination for all of us to look away over there and to wonder what fortunes were to come to us on the battle fields of Europe. It was perhaps as well that none of us had imagination enough to visualize the things that were ahead. I found the rookies at Dover a jolly, companionable lot, and I never found the routine irksome.
"I wish I had your head, old ramrod!" groaned Greg, half an hour later. "If I should lose even a hair's weight from my head I'd be in the 'goats' next week," replied Prescott grimly. "If I ever get to be an officer in the Army, I wonder what earthly good all these math. headaches will do me in handling a bunch of raw rookies?"
At the same moment the machine leapt forward and Betty knew that he would get away again. Then it was the first miracle happened. Sergeant Mullins, out on a hike with some of the rookies from the camp, the sound of his approach deadened by the putting of the machine, appeared around the turn in the road, coming toward them.
"That's the full size of our pretensions, sir," Tom admitted. "Rich men's sons, coming out to learn the ways of the Rookies?" questioned Bad Pete, showing his first sign of interest in them. "Not quite as bad as that," Tom Reade urged. "We're wholly respectable, sir. We have even had to work hard in order to raise money for our railway fare out to Colorado."
"Every man of you has friends of some sort," said the musketry instructor, as we formed up in front of him on the parade ground, gripping with nervous eagerness the rifles which had just been served out from the quartermaster's stores. We were recruits, raw "rookies," green to the grind, and chafing under discipline.
The little rat-like man nodded, and ran from them down the road. The sergeant made an awkward gesture of apology. "Excuse me, lady," he begged, "but it makes me hot when them rookies won't obey orders. You see," he ran on glibly, "I'm a reg'lar; served three years in the Philippines, and I can't get used to not having my men do what I say." Miss Farrar nodded, and started toward the house.
"General Custer he was in command, and Colonel Benteen an' Major Reno was his officers. After doin' twenty or thirty miles in th' saddle, we was sure a s'prised bunch o' rookies when we didn't stop. We didn't stop. No, siree! We kep' right on a-goin'. We didn't stop when we hit forty miles, nor sixty miles, nor eighty miles.
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