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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Rather to make me rejoice in the hope of a new order of things the re-creation of society!" Stransky uttered the sentiment with the triumphant pride of a pupil who knows his text-book thoroughly. By this time the colonel commanding the regiment, who had noticed the excitement from a distance, appeared, forcing a gap for his passage through the crowd with sharp words. He, too, recognized Lanstron.
"I ain't going to and you're a traitor, anyway; that's what you are!" "No back talk! No politics in this!" Stransky replied. "Get up! You carry your skin and I'll carry your bones. Get up quick!" With Dellarme's authoritative assistance grandfather mounted. Then Dellarme put Stransky's pack on his own back. "Let me carry your rifle, too," he said to Stransky as they started.
Two of the guns of the castle batteries, having changed their position, were making havoc enough at pointblank range, with a choice of targets between the Grays huddled on the other side of the breastwork and those in retreat. "We'll have peace for a few hours now," said Stransky, squinting down his nose. "And we'll have something to eat.
I'm going with you! I'm going with you!" he cried in a jubilant voice that arrested the attention of every one on the grounds. They saw him throw his arms around Stransky and then rush to the automatic. "One thought! One duty! Oh, that is easy now!" he breathed, caressing the breech with a flutter of pats from both hands. "You, Marta you are still there!"
But the old sergeant, smarting under the insult of the blow, his sandstone features mottled with red patches, had no compunctions of this order. He was ready to act as executioner. "If you don't want to shoot, I can! An example the law! There's no other way of dealing with him! Give the word!" he said to Dellarme. Stransky laughed, now in strident cynicism.
"I certainly like that song," said Stransky. Well he might. It had made him famous throughout the nation. "There's Jehovah and brimstone in it. Now we'll have our own." "Our own" was also of Stransky's composition and about Dellarme; for Stransky, child of the highways and byways, of dark, tragic alleys and sunny fields, had music in him, the music of the people.
After they had shaken hands, the colonel scowled as he heard the situation explained, with the old sergeant, still holding fast to Stransky's collar, a capable and insistent witness for the prosecution; while Stransky, the fire in his eyes dying to coals, stared straight ahead.
Stransky aimed at a head and shoulder on the sky-line, which he took for those of an officer, and was accurate enough to make the head and shoulders duck and to get a swarm of bullets in return. "Children, why will you waste your country's ammunition?" said Stransky, firing again. "That's the way to talk!" said grandfather approvingly. "Nothing like a little gayety and ginger in war."
"So I see!" said Minna equivocally. Stransky drew his eyes together, sighting them on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully at this dubious reception. "I came back for the chance to kiss a good woman's hand," he observed with a profound awkwardness and looking at Minna's hand. "Your hand!" he added, the cast in his eyes straightening as he looked directly at her appealingly.
"A little high, a little low right, my lady, right!" Stransky was back in his place next to the automatic and firing whenever a head appeared. He rolled his eyes in a characteristic squint of scrutiny toward the new recruit. "Beats spraying rose-bushes for bugs, eh, old man?" he asked. "Yes, a lead solution is best for gray bugs!"
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