“Great God! Is that all the pep you’ve got? Why, you men are stale. What the hell did you come over here to fight for? Did you ever hear that you were supposed to be saving the world for democracy? Now, try it again, and put some punch in it this time. Let’s hear your grunt.”

The action was repeated. “Rotten!” yelled the sergeant. “What the hell are you going to do when you get up to the front? Do you think this is an afternoon tea? You act like a bunch of ribbon-counter clerks, and that’s what I believe most of you are. Now let’s try the butt stroke.”

“Butt stroke. One—two—three. Oh, hell. Where are you aiming, Gillespie? Remember, you’ve missed him with the bayonet and you’re trying to soak him in the crotch—in the crotch, mind you, with the butt of your rifle.”

Several of the men caught the frenzy of the sergeant, and at each command they ran, gritting and grinding their teeth, and grunted at[16] the pieces of straw. From the terrific onslaught one of the dummies was severed from the scaffold, and the sergeant cried out:

[16]

“That’s the first real spirit I’ve seen to-day. That’s the way to kill them!” he called to the man who had wrested the dummy from its place. “Come up here and show these dopes how to kill.”

Exultant, the man left his place and strutted over to the sergeant. Taking a position before one of the dummies, he proceeded to show the rest of the platoon how really and frightfully to stab the dummies until their stuffing broke through the sacks.

“He’s working to be a corporal, the dirty scut. And oh, if he does get to be a two-striper won’t he make us step around. Boy!” Hicks muttered to Pugh, who was standing next to him and whose bayonet had failed even to pierce the covering of the sack.

“He won’t pull none of that old stuff on me. Ah’ll tell Lieutenant Bedford and he’ll make him be good or I won’t give him any more money to gamble with,” Pugh drawled.

“You sure have got a stand-in with Bedford, Pugh. I often wondered how you did it.”

“Hell, that’s easy. When he was down at[17] St. Nazaire I lent him ’bout a thousand francs to gamble with, and he ain’t never paid me.”

[17]

The platoon assembled and marched back to their billets.

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