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Updated: June 23, 2025
Don't worry about me please don't worry. "P. S. I have often wondered what it would be like to be on the eve of a battle. It's no different from anything else." Abe Long and Crittenden were bunkies now. Abe's comrade, the boy Sanders, had been wounded and sent to the rear. Reynolds, too, was shot through the shoulder, and, despite his protests, was ordered back to the coast.
About the time the way was cleared my two pals, or bunkies, of the Confederacy, Albert Roberts and George Purvis, friends from boyhood, put in an appearance. They were on their way to the capital of Tennessee. The father of Albert Roberts was chief owner of the Republican Banner, an old and highly respectable newspaper, which had for nearly four years lain in a state of suspension.
These four lads soon became "bunkies" at Camp Sterling, where they had their training. Later they took into their friendship one Franz Schnitzel, who, though possessed of a German name, was, nevertheless, a loyal "United Stateser," as Iggy called it. Franz had a hard time, at first, convincing people of his loyalty, and once he was accused of a black crime, but later he was proved innocent.
Dick returned to his tent to find his bunkies gone to drills. The summons before the O.C. had relieved Prescott from the first period of drill. On Dick's wardrobe box lay two letters that the mail orderly had left for him. Both bore the Gridley postmark. The home-hungry cadet pounced upon both of them, seating himself and examining the handwriting of the addresses. One letter was from his mother.
It began to look as though the Battle Monument affair would be allowed to go by until morning. Greg was asleep, and Dick was just dozing off, when there came a sharp step in the company street. The step had an official sound to it. That step halted, suddenly, before the door of the tent of our three bunkies. "By order of the commandant of cadets," sounded the voice of Cadet Corporal Haynes. "Mr.
He stumbled across the floor and grasped at the hand of Barry, for a mist had half-blinded his eyes. "Dan," he pleaded, "ain't things as they once was? D'you forgive me?" "Why, Buck," murmured Dan Barry, in that same bewildered fashion, "seems like we was bunkies once."
And then, to his great relief, Jimmy heard a voice he knew well exclaim: "Ach! Him was one big whizz-bang, yes!" "You said it, Iggy!" shouted Franz, and Jimmy saw his two comrades emerge from the smoke and dust cloud, and rush forward. They had just escaped death by the shell, which sent into eternity six beloved bunkies of the 509th.
"So you and Ben are bunkies now, are you?" he asked slowly, without emphasis. But the girl made no reply, only gazing at him with starting eyes. "A traitor to us, and Ben's squaw!" He turned fiercely to Chan. "I guess that gives us right to do what we want to with her. And now she can yell if she wants to for her lover to come and save her."
Let's you and me be bunkies." "All right.... But maybe you won't want to room where I do, Walters." "Where's that? In the Latin Quarter?... You bet. I want to see some French life while I am about it." "Well, it's too late to get a room to-day." "I'm going to the 'Y' tonight anyway." "I'll get a fellow I know to put me up.... Then tomorrow, we'll see. Well, so long," said Andrews, moving away.
As our three bunkies prepared for bed that night Prescott remarked: "Tomorrow, Greg, we'll see the folks from home! I hope you'll do nothing, though, to make Dave Darrin dislike you." "I won't," promised Greg solemnly. Then: "Oh, great -Jove! I've " "Well?" demanded Dick. "What have you done? "I've asked another femme to accept my drag to-morrow night! "Miss Griffin?" "Yes!"
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