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Updated: May 8, 2025
That reminds me, Pilzer," the judge's son went on, "I saw one wounded man, lying beside another, turn and strike him, and he said: 'I had to hit somebody or something! And I heard a wounded man who was waiting in line before the surgeon's table say: 'There's others hurt worse than me. I can wait. I heard men begging the doctors to put them out of their misery.
Is that the word, Jake?" Hugo inquired amiably. "Now, maybe I am. I don't know. But it wouldn't prove that I wasn't if I fought you any more than if I fought the strangers on the other side of the frontier." "Well, if you don't want to fight, what are you in the army for? That's a fair question, isn't it?" growled Pilzer, in an appeal to public opinion.
"Once ought to be enough of that," said the doctor, who was bandaging the leg, speaking to Pilzer. Yet in the doctor's eyes Hugo saw no favor, only the humanity of his occupation of mercy to criminal and king alike. But Hugo expected no favor and he was glad of what he had done as he swooned again. When he came to a second time, his head aching with throbs, it was with a sense of falling.
The answer, given with dull matter-of-factness, revealed that, of the group that had talked so light-heartedly of war six weeks before, only little Peterkin, the valet's son, and Pilzer, the butcher's son, and the barber's and the banker's sons survived. They were sitting in a row, from the instinct that makes old associates keep together even though they continually quarrel.
His great nose showed in silhouette at intervals of wrestling lurches back and forth as he tugged at the rifle of a thick-set soldier of the Grays with a liver patch on the cheek that made his face hideous enough for an incarnation of war's savagery. At last Jacob Pilzer tumbled backward over the breastwork. Unlucky Pilzer!
The judge's son put his hand over his nose as a breeze sprang up from the direction of the Brown lines. "I thought we got them all," said the barber's son. "Must have missed one that was buried by a shell and another shell must have dug him up!" muttered Pilzer, glaring at the barber's son. "It's not nice on people with ladylike nostrils.
"A millionaire and filthy as swine in a sty!" he exclaimed. "Digging like a navvy in order to get admission to the abattoir!" "Were there any reserves coming our way?" asked the barber's son. "Yes, masses." "Perhaps they will relieve us and we'll go into the reserves for a while," suggested the very tired voice. "No fear!" growled Pilzer.
Have you forgotten Eugene Aronson, the farmer's son, and Jacob Pilzer, the butcher's son, and pasty-faced little Peterkin, the valet's son, and the judge's son, and the other privates of the group that surrounded Hugo Mallin as he aired heresies that set them laughing?
"Did you see many dead and wounded?" asked a very tired voice, that of one of the older reservists who was emaciated, with a complexion like blue mould. "How can I tell you what I saw? Ought I to tell you?" "When you've had to wipe a piece of brains out of your eye, as I have it was warm and jelly-like," said Pilzer, "you ain't as squeamish as Hugo Mallin.
"Ah-h!" breathed Pilzer in a guttural of satisfaction. Hugo crimsoned at first in confusion, then he looked frankly and unflinchingly at the captain. "Very well, sir!" he said with a certain dignity which Fracasse, who was a good deal of a martinet, found very irritating. "No, that would suit you too well!" Fracasse declared. "You shall stay!
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