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Updated: May 24, 2025
I should think they would be ashamed of themselves to come and go at his beck and call!" Si's ears must have tingled during that recess, . if there is any truth in the old saying that those useful members grow warm when their owner is being spoken ill of, for every girl present seemed to think it her duty to say something against him before she could discuss the matter with calmness.
When Si came into the regiment, a green cub, just getting his growth, and afraid of everybody who assumed a little authority and had more knowledge of the world than he, the Wagonmaster had been very overbearing, and at times abusive. That is the way of Wagonmasters and their ilk. The remembrance of this rankled in Si's mind.
They snatched up their guns and hurried into line on the spot indicated, looking into each other's countenances and into that of Si's for an explanation of what was up. "Mackall and Joslyn," called Shorty from the car, "come here and take this box of catridges." "Now," said Si, as they did this, "Joslyn, you and Mackall issue those to the boys.
Come, you will help me; and, as a beginning, if she is in yonder shanty get me speech with her." Poor Si's eyes dilated at the peril of the suggestion, and I saw the sluggish Martian nature at war against her better feelings. But presently the latter conquered. "I will try," she said.
In the morning, when the company was ordered out for drill, Si Klegg was standing before the sputtering fire trying to dry his steaming clothes, every now and then turning around to give the other side a chance. The mercury in his individual thermometer had fallen to a very low point in fact, it was a cold day for Si's patriotism.
"They're shootin' wuss and wuss every day," remarked Shorty, after judicially considering the shot and making comparison with its predecessors. "They'll git so after awhile that they can't hit the Tennessee Valley." "Shorty," said the Deacon, "take this revolver and watch that kittle while I wash Si's face, and git him ready for his breakfast.
A low board table was strewn with dishes and the cold remnants of a hasty repast; benches were placed along the walls. A fat, bewhiskered kitten, looking as if it were cut out of black velvet, was dozing on the window sill. "This is Young Si's cat," explained Agnes, patting the creature, which purred joyously and opened its sleepy green eyes. "It's the only thing he cares for, I believe. Witch!
Wait till they come to that little branch, then everybody pick his man and let him have it. Aim below the belt." The frenzy of the first struggle was now gone from Si's mind; instead had come a deadly determination to make every shot tell. "I'm goin' to fetch that mounted officer on their right," he said to Shorty and those around him. "Very well," said Shorty.
She had a vague perception that her companion did not care to discuss the subject. At the end of a week Mrs. Bentley remarked: "What in the world can have happened to Young Si? It's a whole week since he was here for milk or butter. He ain't sick, is he?" Mr. Bentley chuckled amusedly. "I 'low I can tell you the reason of that. Si's getting his stuff at Walden's now.
To make the story short, Si's mules stumbled and floundered and kicked, while Si laid on with the whip and used some of the words he had learned from the old teamster before starting. At length the wagon became hopelessly stalled. The wheels sank to the hubs, and Si yelled and cracked his whip in vain.
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