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Updated: June 25, 2025
Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle to retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire of a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps but to give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, the crush ended.
"But Spenski managed to keep us both without strain.... And then the war came along. A blight fell upon all workmanship in an hour. I had been on the military side of things from a boy, a matter of training and heredity. Of course, I would go. Spenski looked around the shop when I told him this. It was stricken, the machinery cranking down, the faces of the men white and troubled.
"I don't like that, Spenski," said Boylan. "Bull cheek for four was my order. Why, you fellows " Boylan was going to say how consistently generous with rations and private provisions the two Warsaw men had been, but got tangled in the language. Peter helped him. Boylan wouldn't have it otherwise, and quartered the steak, serving Spenski and covering the fourth with a tin.
On the night before they entered Fransic, Mowbray awoke, and saw a figure sitting in the doorway of the little hut assigned them for quarters. It was Spenski, his face upturned in the starlight. Spenski was facing the east. The street of the little hill town lost itself in a sharp declivity just ahead; the nearer huts were low.
Spenski at the hopper and the mutilating racket on. Between fire, Peter could not hold in mind the inconceivable magnitude and velocity of these sounds. His brain seemed to plow under, as it does the great events of pain, the impress of hideous suffering which the proximity of the machines caused. Yet at every firing the damnable things hurt him more.
"He said his face had been fixed for tea and toast with Spenski until we began to steam up the place. Now he's gone to the feed- wagons." "Why, bless the ruffian, there's enough here for four." "I told him that, but you know Samarc." Little Spenski's voice now drawled from behind. "We're getting low, anyway. It was right for him to fill the bags this morning, though very kind of you to offer "
No one knows better what kind of a workman he is, nor can follow his particular finish with a keener or more appreciative eye, than old Dr. Abbe himself. Spenski has letters from that old master. "He knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things like the star stuff.
That night, when Boylan and Mowbray were together again, but a little apart from the others, Big Belt said: "Say, Peter, that little Spenski is a card. A good little chap, smart and modest. I like him." "I found Samarc worth cultivating, too," said Peter.
That day in the column Spenski was called into the personal escort of Kohlvihr, Boylan accompanying. Samarc and Peter rode as usual with the forward infantry just behind the van, headquarters back a quarter of a mile. "Tell me about Spenski," Peter asked. "He's an interesting chap. I heard him talking to you about the stars last evening, before supper, pointing out Venus and Jupiter."
The folk songs were singing in his soul, and the lines of Abel's We Are Free, the friendships of Spenski and Samarc, of these in the room, and the love of Berthe Wyndham. All had prevailed. The culmination was now. He thought of the actuality of to-morrow, but without terror, or blankness.
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