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Updated: May 9, 2025
Indeed, Winona had to be outspoken before she convinced him that a birthday party was now no place for him. He would have gone without misgiving, and would have pridefully recounted the sickening details of that last round in which Spike Brennon had permitted himself to fancy he faced a veritable antagonist. Still he cared little for the festivity.
Then he gripped an arm of Spike Brennon, who had stood by him against the wall, "looking 'em over," as Spike had put it. "Look!" he urged in tones hushed to the wonder of her. Spike had looked. "Gee!" breathed the stricken one mechanically. He would not have chosen the word, but it formed a vent for his emotion.
Spike half dragged his fearful charge across the floor, not too subtly shouldered a way between Bill Bardin and Terry Stamper, bowed gracefully to the strange beauty, and said, "Hello, sister! Shake hands with my friend, Kid Cowan." "Pleased to meet you!" She smiled graciously upon Wilbur and extended a richly jewelled hand, which he timidly pressed. Then she turned to Spike Brennon.
These were his very words. They are army slang, and mean that he is a brave soldier. A young man, a Mr. Edward Brennon from Newbern, a sort of athlete, came over with him, and they have been constantly together. I did not see this Mr. Brennon, but I hear that he, too, is gallantly great, and also a regular fighting so-and-so, as these rough men put it in their slang.
Here the neophyte had been taught the niceties of feint and guard and lead, of the right cross, the uppercut, the straight left, to duck, to side-step, to shift lightly on his feet, to stop protruding his jaw in cordial invitation, to keep his stomach covered. He proved attentive and willing and quick. He was soon chewing gum as Spike Brennon chewed it, and had his hair clipped in Brennon manner.
It was no way to address an invalid of his standing. "Chow, Spike," said Wilbur, and would have guided him, but Winona was lightly before him. Dave Cowan followed them from the little house. "Present me to His Highness," said he, after kneeling to kiss the hand of Winona. The mid-afternoon hours beheld Spike Brennon again strangely occupying the wicker porch chair.
"She must have married him for his money," Wilbur heard himself saying in cold, cynical tones. The illumining thought had just come. That explained it. "Sure," agreed Sam. "Why wouldn't she?" Late that afternoon, in the humble gymnasium at the rear of Pegleg McCarron's, Spike Brennon emerged from a rally in which Wilbur Cowan had displayed unaccustomed spirit.
"Pushed 'em across the crick," said Private Brennon. "Now we chase 'em!" So they joined the chase and fought again at Jaulgonne, where it rained for three days and nights, and Private Cowan considered his life in danger because he caught cold; it might develop into pneumonia. He didn't want to get sick and die not now.
Spike's left arm went up expertly to guard his face from the rush, but came down when he recognized his assailant. Wilbur turned again to Winona. "But where's he?" he asked. "Where's the main squeeze?" Winona looked proudly at Spike Brennon. "I'm him," said Spike. "He's him," said Winona, and laid an arm protectingly across his shoulder. "You wild little son of a gun!"
His mother must have agreed that it was, for the weeks went by and not again did she drop a hint of her anxiety. One rainy afternoon the Major and old Gid were sitting on a tool-box under the barn shed, when Father Brennon came riding down the road. "As they say over the creek, light and look at your saddle!" the Major shouted.
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