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TAPS 
 
 Story and Verse 
 
 of the 
 
 Old Academy 
 
 By 
 Charles McMorris Purdy 
 
 1919 
 
Copyright, 1919^ by Charles McMorris Furdy 
 
 ©CI.A515665 
 
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m 27 1919 
 
TAPS 
 
REVEILLE 
 
 "Oh, it's time to get up, 
 Say, it's time to get up — " 
 The bugler calls in my ear, 
 And I wish that I could only be 
 A thousand miles from here. 
 
 "Hey, it's time to get up. 
 
 To get up, to get up — " 
 
 And I pull the clothes over my head. 
 
 And, "What's the use of hfe," I say, 
 
 "I'll just stay here instead!" 
 
 "Well, it's time to get up. 
 
 Yes, get up, — sure, get up — " 
 
 "Very well, I might as v/ell now, 
 
 For you've broken my rest, and I will be blest 
 
 There's no sleep in your brassy row !" 
 
 "Are you up? Are you up? 
 Oh, I say, are you up?" 
 It says as the last notes end, 
 
 But I'm up with a laugh, and a jest, and a cheer. 
 To meet what the day may send. 
 (13) 
 
TAPS 
 
 THE OLD ACADEMY 
 
 Set amid stately elms and grand old oaks, the old 
 academy with its red brick buildings and impressive 
 white columns, looks forth benevolently on an attrac- 
 tive three-sided pond and sloping campus. Beyond the 
 green of the trees and the grass, the church spires and 
 court house dome top the rim of houses that border 
 the academy. 
 
 Beyond the school lies mile upon mile of rolling 
 country, fertile land, and beckoning woods. Maples, 
 oaks, and merry brooks, and a country road that seems 
 to lead into the land of heart's desire. 
 
 I have always longed to follow that winding road 
 to its very end, over the bridge and around the bend, 
 seeking new beauties in every curve and dip of the 
 road. 
 
 But as I stroll about the campus, my eyes come 
 back to that three-sided pond. If it were just a bit 
 larger, one might call it a lake. It is a sparkling bit of 
 water, and on a spring day, its surface is as blue' as 
 the very sky above. There is a scow on the pond, 
 being energetically paddled with improvised oars by 
 two perspiring cadets. 
 
 They are having all sorts of sport, splashing, and 
 howling with glee as they make an effort to guide their 
 clumsy craft over the water. There are trees lining the 
 water's edge, and the scene reminds one of some pas- 
 toral painting by an old master. 
 
 (14) 
 
THE OLD ACADEMY 
 
 Here and there cadets are grouped, talking, or 
 reading, or playing at some outdoor sport. I notice a 
 boy stretched at full length upon the greensward, under 
 the grateful shade of a spreading oak, idly tossing bits 
 of dirt and twigs into the nearby water and watching 
 the ripples as they circle themselves into smoothness 
 
 again. 
 
 Two older fellows are taking advantage of the 
 spring sunshine in a more dignified manner. They are 
 seated on a bench on the pond's side, lazily discussing 
 the latest topics of interest. Perhaps it is a dance in 
 the gymnasium, or about the coming vacation, or per- 
 haps, and this latter suggestion is the more likely, they 
 are talking of The Girl at home. 
 
 Between the new barracks and the limits of the 
 campus, there stands a dignified group of oaks. Be- 
 neath these, two smaller boys, presumably from the 
 lower school, are enjoying themselves, while a little far- 
 ther away, one of the children of the faculty is having 
 the timie of its young life playing in a sand-box. 
 
 And, if one cares to look farther in this direction 
 down Promenade, one can see a brick-paved street, 
 sheltered by the greenest of shade trees. Along this 
 street you may see cadets coming and going, for the 
 afternoon is off-campus privilege, and the cadets are 
 free to come and go as they please. 
 
 The shadows grow longer on the grass, and the 
 sun begins to sink, casting its last rays on the flag- 
 staffed dome of the Administration building. It is 
 
 (15) 
 
TAPS 
 nearing supper time. The cadets are returning from 
 the little city of Mexico, and you see them, jesting and 
 whistling, as they come down the path, and join in 
 animated groups, to while away the time before mess 
 formation. 
 
 A bugler appears. He walks briskly out past the 
 flag pole and sounds mess formation. The cadets form, 
 and the report is taken. Then, to the sounding-off of 
 the bugles, the Stars and Stripes are lowered. Retreat 
 ends and as you cover your head, you see the cadets 
 marching in to mess to the lively tune of a trumpeter's 
 march. 
 
 A minute later the sound of boyish voices floats 
 from the open windows of the mess hall, and you know 
 that once again a day has closed on a scene of youth, 
 whose buoyancy, however, does not end with the sound- 
 ing of Retreat. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There is usually a reason for writing a book, and I 
 present mine in this question: If universities like 
 Harvard, Yale, and Princetown are commemorated in 
 story and verse by their sons, why shouldn't a prep 
 school be honored in the same way? 
 
 It is in the preparatory schools, military or other- 
 wise, that we begin to value the true meaning of friend- 
 ship. It is for the enjoyment of those boys and persons 
 interested in the life of a preparatory school, in this 
 case, a popular type of the day, a military academy, 
 that I have set down a few tales and verses of the 
 school which for the sake of memory I shall call 'The 
 Old Academy." 
 
 The size of this little volume can be but a small 
 corner out of one of the pleasantest years that I have 
 ever spent. Memories of one's youthful Alma Mater 
 cling with one, and I have endeavored in a fashion to 
 set down my thoughts in these few pages. 
 
 For the earnest and most constructive criticism 
 rendered me in the preparing of this book, I wish to 
 thank my friend and advisor, H. G. Pfander. 
 
 The Author 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Reveille 13 
 
 The Old Academy 14 
 
 Part I 
 Lonesome 19 
 
 Part II 
 
 Old School of Ours 29 
 
 The Squarest Way 30 
 
 Part III 
 
 A Breath O'Spring 45 
 
 Stung 47 
 
 Part IV 
 
 Alone 57 
 
 The Blindness of Jerry 58 
 
 Part V 
 
 The Bishop Visits 69 
 
 A Little Matter of Friendship 79 
 
 Taps 95 
 
TAPS 
 
PART I. 
 
LONESOME 
 
 Larry McBride was lonesome. In all his seventeen 
 years he had never been so lonesome before. But per- 
 haps, in those seventeen years, he had never been away 
 from friends and home for such a long time. 
 
 Everyone gets lonesome at times, and everyone, at 
 least nearly everyone, feels the need of someone, a 
 cheerful someone, to brace him up. Lonesome, and yet 
 living side by side with some two hundred other fellows 
 v/ho didn't seem to mind being at school in the least. 
 Of course they were not all Larry's age, but that was 
 not to be expected. Some were older, some younger. 
 There were all sorts of boys: lean, fat, short and tall. 
 Larry had never seen such a mixture of forms in all 
 his life. 
 
 He had wandered out in the woods back of the 
 school. No one, it seemed, cared whether he went 
 alone or not. But that was the irony, McBride thought, 
 of being a new boy. He did not stop to think that 
 perhaps there Vv^ere other new fellows who were ex- 
 periencing the same pangs and memories as he was. 
 When one is lonesome, one does not stop to ponder 
 upon such things as that. 
 
 The world seemed pretty rotten to the boy. He 
 wondered how Mother and Dad were getting along, 
 and he thought of the good times in the city he had 
 come from, with a regretful sigh. 
 
 Over a barb wire fence he climbed, tearing a jag- 
 (19) 
 
TAPS 
 
 ged rent in his breeches. Oh, hang the luck, anyway! 
 He was going to have a good time in spite of the 
 school and a little tear in his breeches. Military uni- 
 forms were a new thing to Larry, and he had not quite 
 gotten into the knack of wearing a uniform with ease. 
 He felt as if every person on the streets of Mexico 
 that passed him, turned around and snickered. Of 
 course that was a more or less erroneous idea, and 
 perhaps the boy's pride had taken a tumble after a 
 week in a school where a boy was taken for his worth, 
 and not for the money his parents had. The boy was 
 to learn that a military academy was a democratic 
 institution. 
 
 He trod briskly over the fresh-smelling earth, try- 
 ing to perk up his jaded spirits by a weak rendition of 
 a popular ditty. As a tune, the whistling was a decided 
 failure, but it served to lighten his heart, and that Vv-as 
 the most important thing any v; ay. 
 
 "Gee," he exclaimed, talking aloud to no one in 
 particular, for there was no one to talk to, unless one 
 counted in the squirrels and birds, and they couldn't 
 even understand him. 'Tt's fine out here." 
 
 The words that he uttered were plain, and not ex- 
 pressive of the beautiful country that lay on all sides 
 of him, but to his city-bred nature the simple, "Gee !" 
 sufficed. He wasted no words on the out-of-doors, 
 but drank in its beauty with eager eyes. 
 
 The woods were a wonderful place to Larry. And 
 it seemed that they were to every boy in the academy. 
 
 (20) 
 
LONESOME 
 
 On Sundays and after school, the cadets would stroll 
 in twos and threes out towards the woods, high in 
 spirits, and teeming over with good health. 
 
 Where is the boy or man that does not enjoy a 
 brisk hike through an open wood? Larry saw these 
 woods as a paradise. The rolling of the hills, and in- 
 viting shade of the scattered trees were all a new ex- 
 perience for him, — something to be looked into and 
 enjoyed. He found a picturesque little creek, and 
 stopped for a moment to flick a leaf into cool waters. 
 Then he picked his way across, jumping from one 
 stone to another till he reached the far side. Up the 
 hill that rose from the very border of the creek he 
 climbed, and reaching a well traveled path at the top, 
 turned to look back at the school which was to be his 
 place of habitation for nine months to come. 
 
 His eyes rested on the majestic dome of the 
 academy; the red brick buildings softened by the green 
 of the campus and the countryside around. He could 
 see the football team practicing "on the gridiron, and an 
 occasional breath of wind would bring to him the sharp, 
 authoritive commands of the coach. 
 
 Larry could see the v/hite of the tennis players 
 and almost imagine that he could detect the very spot 
 the balls landed. He noticed the town beyond, a pretty, 
 home-like, miniature city, that bustled with life. It 
 was the county seat of the surrounding county. 
 
 And then the country road that wound toward the 
 woods and disappeared behind a thicket of bushes. The 
 
 (21) 
 
TAPS 
 
 air v/as pure and redolent of September. Nature was 
 at her best, and her best was the out-of-doors. 
 
 Adventure seemed to be calhng to Larry that after- 
 noon, and the boy, heeding the summons with quicken- 
 ing interest, turned away from his gazings and set his 
 face toward the east. Another fence barred his way, 
 but that difficuhy was soon overcome. Then down the 
 slope past groups of trees, of what species, the boy did 
 not know, to a little valley — a miniature of Nature. It 
 was more like a ravine, but McBride in his ignorance 
 of the country, set it down in his mind as a little val- 
 ley. He strode along, looking with interest at the squir- 
 rels and birds and all the beauties which that guardian 
 of the earth had bestowed upon the region. 
 
 Looking ahead, he saw what appeared to be a 
 tumbledown shack, apparently deserted, with an open- 
 ing similar to that of an ordinary well, at its side. On 
 second glance he saw that someone was there ahead of 
 him, and that someone, whoever he was, seemed very 
 much excited over something. At that moment, the 
 boy caught sight of Larry and called frantically to him. 
 McBride could not catch his words, but realized from 
 the smaller boy's actions something was wrong. 
 
 He wasted no time in reaching the spot. As he 
 came up to the smaller boy, whom, he noticed as he 
 ran was one of the cadets from the academy, the boy 
 broke out into a violent sobbing and pointed speechless 
 to the aperture. 
 
 (22) 
 
LONESOME 
 
 ''What's the matter, kid?" Larry inquired hastily. 
 
 The boy stopped his sobbing and pointed in the di- 
 rection of the opening. ''He's in there," he choked; "he 
 fell into the. mine shaft and he's drowned, I know he is 
 — ," and commenced sobbing again. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Larry asked quickly, shak- 
 ing the boy to stop his crying. The youngster regained 
 control of himself to answer: 
 
 "I was playing around this deserted coal mine with 
 Freddie Mercer and he got too near to the edge and fell 
 it. It's flooded halfway up, and he's drowned. Oh — !" 
 
 McBride rushed to the edge of the shaft, for that 
 was what it was, and looked down. It was as the 
 younger boy had stated. Rains and underground seep- 
 age had filled the mine, and it had been deserted by the 
 miners some time before. Larry knew enough about 
 coal mines to realize that a tunnel would lead back from 
 the shaft in one direction at least. And there was a 
 slight possibility that the missing cadet might have been 
 drawn into this passage. If he" was, there was a mere 
 chance that he had found an air shaft, and could keep 
 alive until aid could be reached. 
 
 The new boy wasted no timxC. A hemp rope was 
 hanging in the pulley that once had been used to bring 
 the coal to the surface. Small mines, such as this one, 
 were frequent throughout the part of the country in 
 which the academy was situated, and this system, crude 
 and ancient, was still in use in many of the smaller 
 mines. 
 
 (23) 
 
TAPS 
 
 He threw off his blouse and began rapidly to un- 
 lace his shoes. He knew that he could not accomplish 
 much with heavy army shoes on. So in a minute, al- 
 though the time seemed twice as long to the impatient 
 boy, he had them off and had grasped hold of the rope, 
 and was rapidly lowering himself to damp, ill-smelling 
 waters of the flooded shaft. 
 
 The water was slimy and full of correspondingly 
 slimy water animals. As he lowered himself into the 
 water, a lizard darted against his leg, and a frightened 
 water- snake wiggled away. He had yet to find the 
 missing boy and the entrance to the tunnel. The rope 
 extended to the bottom of the shaft, and Larry, taking 
 a deep breath, sank into the black water. He tried to 
 discover the body of the boy as his eyes pierced the 
 water, but nothing except the water-animals came into 
 his grasp, and they darted away in terror to seek refuge 
 in the corners. 
 
 The cadet felt as if his lungs would burst, so he 
 rose to the surface for air. There was an opening on 
 one of the four sides of the shaft, but Larry had not 
 yet found out which side it was. The white face of 
 the smaller boy peered over the rim of the shaft. 
 
 "Did you find him?" he queried breathlessly. 
 
 Larry shook his head. The the thought came to 
 his mind : 
 
 ''Have you ever seen this shaft when it was dry?" 
 
 The younger boy nodded assent. 
 
 "Then tell me, quick, which side the tunnel is on." 
 (24) 
 
LONESOME 
 
 The boy wasted no time, but pointed out the spot. 
 McBride filled his lungs and dove for the entrance. He 
 found it, and swimming, felt his way along. If he did 
 not find the air shaft or the boy, he was done for, 
 the nevv^ boy thought. The time seemed hours, and yet 
 he had been immersed only a second or so. The water 
 was growing shallower. He raised an arm above him. 
 A draft of cool air struck it. Larry came to the top, 
 and lay floating on the surface of the black water in 
 the pitch dark tunnel, gasping for breath. Then he 
 thought of the missing cadet. He groped around in the 
 dark, clutching always at the vacant air. It seemed to 
 him as if a bandage had been placed over his eyes so 
 that he could not see. 
 
 He did not know where to take his next step. Then 
 his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he 
 could see ¥^hat appeared to be a shapeless mass a few 
 feet ahead of him. He half swam, half waded through 
 the slime to that blur. He touched it. His hand grasp- 
 ed hold of something, and that something was human. 
 It was the body of the cadet. He gathered up the boy 
 in his arms. There seemed to be a flicker of life in 
 his body, and Larry brought the boy to the old air 
 shaft. Standing to his waist in water, McBride applied 
 the few simple principles of resuscitation he had learned 
 in the Boy Scouts. It was difficult to accomplish much 
 in the half- flooded tunnel, but Larry tried his best. 
 How odd it seemed, for he, a new boy, to experience 
 such an adventure as this in almost his first days at the 
 academ.y. 
 
 (25) 
 
TAPS 
 
 It was something that filled his mind with whimsi- 
 cal thought, and if the situation had not been so serious, 
 the boy would have laughed. 
 
 But McBride realized that if anything was to be 
 done, it would have to be done instantly. He had read 
 about mines having openings on hillsides,' and there was 
 the barest chance that this deserted coal mine might 
 have such an exit. Larry realized he could never get 
 the unconscious boy back through the way he came, so 
 he picked the now slightly warm body of the cadet up, 
 and shouldering his human burden, staggered through 
 the muck and water in search of an exit. The water 
 grew less as he advanced, feeling his way before him, 
 and a minute later he had reached comparatively dry 
 ground. He groped his way along, turning this way 
 and that, until it seemed that all eternity was ahead. 
 
 One more turn, Larry fancied. Just one more 
 turn. He was utterly exhausted, and his breath was 
 coming shorter and shorter. One more turn, he mur- 
 mured, and dravv^ing every bit of strength that he could 
 assimilate, he lurched around another corner. A brightness 
 blinded him. A breath of pure, sweet air filled his 
 lungs, and Larry knew that he had found the exit. 
 
 He laid his human burden on the ground at the 
 opening on the hillside, gave one feeble shout, and fell 
 to the soft earth, exhausted. 
 
 When he opened his eyes again he saw a blurred 
 group of boyish figures standing about him and felt 
 someone rubbing his wrists. 
 
 (26) 
 
LONESOME 
 
 "I'm all right," he whispered through heavy lips. 
 "But the kid — -." Larry did not finish his sentence. He 
 was too tired to talk. But he did hear a man's deep 
 voice saying, "He is just a little petered out. A good 
 rest will fix him up. And the little fellow, he was 
 gotten out just in the nick of time; a minute more and 
 he would have gone." 
 
 McBride did not try to hear any more. He was 
 satisfied. The little cadet, whom he never had seen 
 before, was safe. So he fell asleep. 
 
 A few days later Larry was up and walking about 
 as briskly as ever. The school seemed pretty good to 
 him after all. It vvas another perfect fall day. The 
 sun v/as high in the sky and the shadows on the grass 
 were enticing. But this time he was not alone ; there was 
 someone else v/ith him., someone who was very big in 
 the military circles of the academy, Freddie Mercer's 
 brother. 
 
 "Let's go over in the shade," his new friend sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Larry acquiesced. He would have agreed to any- 
 thing at that mxoment. 
 
 "Do you knov/," meditated the older Mercer as the 
 two boys stretched themselves out on the grass, "do you 
 know, when I first came here four years ago, I was the 
 lonesome devil in the academy?" 
 
 "I v/as too," Larry acknowledged, squinting con- 
 tentedly through half closed eyes at the picturesque 
 vista of the pond, — "until the other day." 
 
 (27) 
 
FART II. 
 
OLD SCHOOL OF OURS 
 
 From your entrance-way to your flag-staffed dome, 
 You are fine, old school, you are fine; 
 For many a month you have been my home — 
 With your barracks of brick, your sloping loam; 
 You are mine, old friend, you are mine ! 
 
 The years have rolled past in unending tide. 
 
 You have stood, old school, you have stood; 
 
 And the men who passed thru you with pride 
 
 Are those w^ho have always stayed by your side — 
 
 You are good, old school, you are good ! 
 
 Tho the years may pass, and vv'e're far away. 
 
 You are ours, old school, you are ours ; 
 
 Tho we leave you each graduation day 
 
 To search the w^hole world and find what we may, 
 
 Always ours, old school, ahvays ours ! 
 
 (29) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 Clinton Bosworth closed the book he had been 
 reading with a snap and threw it disgustedly onto the 
 library table. It was a nev/ piece of fiction and he had 
 bought it at the bookseller's under the delusion that it 
 would be good reading. 
 
 The night was stormy and the rain poured down 
 in torrents. It was a miserable evening for going about, 
 and as he had had no engagements for that time, Bos- 
 worth settled himself in his arm chair for a quiet even- 
 ing with his book and pipe. 
 
 A log crackled in the fireplace, and its heat soon 
 ferreted any chill from the room and made it as snug 
 and comfortable as even the most particular of bache- 
 lors could have wished. 
 
 Clinton Bosworth was a young man, bordering on 
 twenty- five, with light brown hair and eyes that fairly 
 sparkled with the good health of youth. He was alive 
 in every sense of the word. Two years out of a 
 western college, he had made a swath in the path of 
 success, and now, as he sat before the open fire, the 
 luxury of his success seemed on all sides of him. 
 
 His apartment was in good taste, furnished in the 
 deep brown tones, presenting a quiet, substantial ap- 
 pearance that was typical, in a way, of the man who 
 lived in it. Bosworth had not let the suddenness of his 
 success go to his head. Nor had he immediately joined 
 in with the wealthy crovvM of idlers who inhabited the 
 
 (30) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 clubs and lounging places more frequently than their 
 places of business, if they had any. 
 
 He was well liked, and rather the more respected 
 for his aloofness from the fast set which lived about 
 him. He had been brought up clean, and had lived a 
 clean life. His parents were dead. His mother had 
 gone the last, and her words to him had been, "Clint, 
 go straight, for my sake." 
 
 Clinton Bosworth had firmly resolved to live his 
 mother's last request to the letter. He had gone 
 straight. In athletics he w^as clean. That had been 
 instilled in him by the coach at the military academy he 
 had attended. And then, when he started out on his 
 first business venture, he had played just the same 
 clean game that he had in his sports. Success was his. 
 He had played straight with the world and that grim 
 old breaker of lives had been kind to him. 
 
 The fire crackled and spat little blue flames 
 through the gold. Clinton Bosworth did not move. The 
 finished book lay sprawled on the table. But the man 
 was not thinking of the story so much as he was of the 
 characters, and one in particular. It seemed so familiar, 
 so strangely true. Whom did it remind him of? But 
 he could not rem.ember. SomiC odd tv/ist of his brain 
 withheld the illusive bit of information from him. His 
 pipe v/ent out, and he absently filled it and lighted it 
 again. 
 
 The character whom he had in mind was that of a 
 man, young like himself, who had tried to cheat in the 
 
 (31) 
 
TAPS 
 
 game of life, v/as successful a few times, and then, 
 when the crisis had come, had been exposed as a cheat 
 — a sneak. 
 
 The story had been distasteful to him, as well as 
 the character, but the author had played cleverly on the 
 reader's emotions and had given to the reading public 
 a passably good story. 
 
 Bosworth thought it a bit inconsistent with life. 
 This man had been shov/n as a cheat. Wasn't there a 
 good strain in him somewhere? The fev/ years of 
 contact that Clinton Bosworth had experienced with the 
 people of the business world had almost convinced 
 him that there was no good in anyone. But his better 
 nature had rebelled against this sordid argument, and 
 he had begun to see that everybody had a bit of good 
 in them if it was only properly drawn out. 
 
 He thoroughly believed that this man of the story, 
 if he had been shown the way, and had been given the 
 warning at the right time, would have uncovered his 
 spot of decency and have become a man. But even his 
 defeat in the eyes of the world would not have taken 
 away quite all his chances. If the good spot in that 
 fellow had only been given a chance to show itself. 
 
 The bachelor sighed. Why did the author leave 
 his story to such an unsatisfactory ending? Perhaps 
 there was a reason for it. Bosworth pondered over the 
 fact. It was cosy in the room, and the young man al- 
 lowed himself the pleasure of an indolent stretch and 
 yawn. 
 
 (32) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 Well, what did it matter to him, anyway. It was 
 interesting to ponder over the book, but it did seem 
 almost useless to get in such a mood over a mere bit 
 of print. He yawned again. The warmth of the room 
 was unusually conducive to drowsiness. 
 
 A gust of air swept through the room. Probably a 
 window blown open, Bosworth thought, as he rose to 
 seek the source of the chill air. Varnett, his servant, 
 must have been careless in fastening the window-latch. 
 But investigation proved that the windows were all 
 securely fastened. Then the bachelor noticed that the 
 French doors which opened upon a small balcony, stood 
 wide open. 
 
 That was unusual, too, Bosworth muttered to him- 
 self. The wind had not blown those doors open, he 
 was tolerably certain. Then he noticed that from the 
 bottom of the draperies there protruded a clumsy look- 
 ing pair of feet — a man's feet. 
 
 Realizing that the intruder w^as unable to see him, 
 Bosworth retreated softly to the library table, where he 
 slipped a revolver into his pocket. Then he returned to 
 the French doors. With one hand grasped tightly on 
 the revolver he advanced his free hand. With a quick 
 jerk he pulled back the draperies, disclosing a very be- 
 wildered housebreaker. The man said nothing, for 
 there was nothing to say. He did nothing, for it is not 
 often wise to move when a thirty-two is centered on 
 one. 
 
 Bosworth was the master of the situation and knew 
 it. He was curious to know just why any man should 
 
 (33) 
 
TAPS 
 
 care enough for the simple furnishings of his apartment 
 to break in on him in this unusual manner. The bache- 
 lor had a bit of humor in him, and also a heart. 
 
 ^'Step out," he directed the man. 
 
 The gentleman with the face like that of a scared, 
 yellow pup did so. He was wet — drenched is a better 
 word. Anyone could see that he was not a regular 
 crook, but a greenie, a fellow new at the game. His 
 clothes had once been graced with the mark of a good 
 tailor, but they were shapeless now, and worn. There 
 was a hopeless expression on the housebreaker's face 
 that reminded Bosworth of a man he had seen once 
 who had just been convicted of murder and had re- 
 ceived his death sentence. 
 
 As I said before, Bosworth had a heart. He vvas 
 human, and it Vv-as because of this that he sav/ that this 
 man was just another big fellow gone wrong. The man 
 was not armed, Bosvv^orth had assured himself of that 
 by searching him, all the time keeping a steady finger 
 on the trigger. So he curtly ordered his prisoner to 
 take a seat by the fire. 'Take your coat off and get 
 dry, then you tell me what you mean by breaking in 
 here." 
 
 The hopeless expression on the man's face did 
 not change, but nevertheless he did as ordered. Then 
 as he held his shaking hands to the warmth of the fire 
 he began to talk. The voice v/as not that of a man, 
 but of one who had tasted defeat and had gone under. 
 He was not a man, but merely a shell. 
 
 (34) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 "You want to know why I broke in here, mister, 
 and I'll tell you. Food and me's been strangers for a 
 whole week, and the only place I've had for shelter has 
 been a bench in the park. I used to lead a straight life 
 once, and I never tried to play crook this way before. 
 I tell you, mister, when the rain's a-sloshing in your 
 shoes and your skin's just as wet as the rain can make 
 it, you'll do anything to get to shelter. If you have 
 ever been in the fix where you've eaten the crumbs 
 scattered out for the birds, because 3^ou have gone so 
 long without food that even a crumb helps, then you 
 can know just why I broke in here. But you're rich. 
 Why should you care a damn whether the rest of us 
 park bums go hungry or not ? Now don't say no ; I've 
 been in your place once myself. I tried to play straight 
 here, but when your stomach's empty and the front 
 meets the back, then, mister, hunger's hunger ! I put 
 my pride in my pocket and tried to break in somewhere. 
 This is the first place I struck. As a bum, I'm a fiz- 
 zle." 
 
 For the first time, Bosworth noticed hov/ weak the 
 fellov/ v/as, and realized that there was a grain of truth 
 in his words. But he was not sure of the man. The 
 sympathy gag had been pulled so often, he reflected. 
 
 But he w^ould give the fellow a chance. There 
 might be a good streak in him, and fresh clothes and 
 food would not hurt any man. 
 
 'T don't know whether you are telling it straight to 
 m.e or not, but I'm going to give you a chance," the 
 
 (35) 
 
TAPS 
 
 bachelor addressed the man. "What you need is a bath, 
 clean clothes and some food. Then the rest can come 
 later." 
 
 Half an hour passed and the housebreaker was sit- 
 ting by the fire again hungrily eating the food that Bos- 
 worth had been able to collect. It was not the gutter 
 dog who had entered the apartment a little while be- 
 fore. Arrayed in clean linens, for he was about Bos- 
 worth's stature, with his hair brushed and face shaved, 
 he presented to the eye a rather pleasing appearance. 
 
 He was not as old as he appeared when he first 
 was discovered hiding behind the draperies at the 
 French doors. In fact, he appeared to be the bache- 
 lor's senior by only a few years. It seemed as if the 
 shell of the street had been completely Vv^ashed off, and 
 a new man put in its place. There was something 
 strangely familiar about this fellow to Bosworth. His 
 voice, his eyes, and that disappointed expression in the 
 lines of his mouth all seemed strangely like someone 
 he had com.e in contact with, but where? 
 
 Here was his man of the book, in real life. He 
 wondered how the real thing would turn out. He was 
 sure that the author was wrong. Well, here was his 
 man. Let him be the deciding point. 
 
 Food and raiment seemed to release the locks of 
 speech, for the man began to talk of his own accord. 
 
 "The world's always been dov\'n on me. I never 
 seemed to get along. Even when I was a kid away at 
 school the fellows didn't like me. Perhaps it was my 
 
 (36) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 own fault. They thought I played dirty, and maybe I 
 did, but I was out to win the games no matter how. I 
 kind of played at football," he explained. 
 
 "And then I got through school and started out for 
 myself. Folks dead, but left me plenty of money. 
 Well, I was light-headed, and ran through it in record 
 time. Then I was up against it. No one wanted me. I 
 had a name for being dirty. So I went ahead and let 
 them think so. I couldn't make a living in a straight 
 way, so I did it the other way. It was all right while 
 it lasted. But I got gummed up in a street deal and I 
 had to leave New York. I went down the line. Same 
 old story. My reputation went ahead of me. No one 
 wanted me. The little money I had left was soon gone, 
 and when I arrived here, I was broke. I kind of found 
 out that money isn't the only thing, although it will 
 fill one's stomach." 
 
 He glanced appreciatively about the room. Bos- 
 worth sat on the other side of the table, smoking and 
 saying nothing. His character was pretty near that of 
 the book thus far, but what was the result to be, he 
 wondered. The outcast went on: 
 
 "I couldn't get work, and didn't have any money, 
 and my clothes were just about used up. So I hung 
 around the park with the other bums and went hungry. 
 I did go straight, in my own way. I never went so 
 low as I did tonight. I had too much pride for that. 
 But somehow, while I was wandering about the streets, 
 soaked and hungry, I gave in; I simply had to have 
 
 (37) 
 
TAPS 
 
 food, shelter— anything. And so I broke in here. I 
 haven't got any self-respect or any future. I'd just as 
 soon go to jail as to starve outside. I'm to blame. I 
 know that now only too well. I played dirty all the 
 way through." 
 
 He stared meditatively at the sparks as they glowed 
 their way up into the blackness of the chimney. The 
 clock on the mantle ticked steadily away. Bosworth 
 was silent. The underdog's eyes roamed about the 
 room again. This time they lit on something that 
 caused a spark of interest to kindle. It was a maroon 
 and gold memory book that lay underneath the table; a 
 book such as young fellows are apt to keep in their 
 *'prep-school" days. Bosworth had brought it with him 
 from the military academy he had gone to. The strange 
 man gulped a little and stared again. 
 
 "I used to go to that school," he muttered. 'Tt 
 was a good old school, but they hated me there. I 
 didn't play square and that v/as what the fellows stood 
 for. ^ When the men in charge used to talk to us about 
 playing square and fair I would laugh at them and go 
 on playing in my dirty way. You remind me, in a way, 
 of a fellow who was captain on the football team the 
 year I was there. Clint Bosworth was his name. 
 
 ''He was square as they made them. I can remem- 
 ber how he used to take me aside after scrimmage and 
 try to get me to play clean. Well, he did the right 
 thing, and I didn't. And now it's too late. I'm at the 
 bottom and they say Bosworth's leading them all. I've 
 
 (38) 
 
THE SQUAkEST WAY 
 
 learned my lesson but I'm done for. I have played dirt 
 and the world's against me." He lapsed into silence; 
 the clock on the mantle ticked on. 
 
 "I guess you were too young to be there in Bos- 
 worth's time," the underdog calculated. "You missed a 
 lot though. I'd give anything to be back at the old 
 academy again and let them teach me the 'play square' 
 game again. A fellovv doesn't realize how much the old 
 school at Mexico does mean until its doors are closed to 
 him," he added huskily. Bosworth spoke: 
 
 "Your main trouble seems to lie in the fact that 
 you didn't play the game straight, and tried to win by 
 playing dirty." 
 
 "That's it," assented the man. 
 
 "Why don't you act like a man, get on your feet, 
 and start all over again — fresh — and play straight?" 
 
 "Why don't I ? Haven't I been telling you that 
 I've looked for jobs for the last month and that no one 
 will have me? No, I'm done. When the w^orld sets its 
 mark against a man he's done." The disappointed look 
 came into his face as he said this. The world had ex- 
 acted severe toll for its punishment. 
 
 The bachelor was in doubt as to the man's identity 
 no longer. This was the mian about whom he had been 
 thinking only a few minutes before, when he had 
 broken into the apartment. How odd it seemed. The 
 man he had been comparing with the character in the 
 book had come before him in flesh in the guise of an 
 old team-mate. But what was to be the result. Was 
 the author right, or he, Bosworth? 
 
 (39) 
 
TAPS 
 
 "Would you be willing to really work for an hon- 
 est living, in a square way again, if you got the 
 chance?" Bosw^orth queried, his clear eyes searching 
 the less steady ones of the weaker man as if to find 
 an answer to his question. 
 
 ''Would I?" asked the man who had tasted of the 
 bitter cup. ''Would a drowning man grasp at a straw? 
 I've been punished enough, God knows, and it has all 
 been my own fault. I'd go straight if I got the chance. 
 But it seems," he added, a wistful smile coming to his 
 lips, "that no one needs a man, even if he wants to 
 play fair." 
 
 "When I Avent to the academy," Bosworth said, 
 "they were teaching that the only way to succeed in life 
 was to play fair and square with yourself and others. 
 It was something that always stuck by me. Now, we're 
 both old academy boys. You took one path and I took 
 another. You sort of got side-tracked, as it were, and 
 fell into the way of thinking that the easiest way to get 
 along in the business world was the dirtiest way. Now 
 I claim that the easiest way to get along is the squarest 
 way." 
 
 "I guess that you're right about that," the older of 
 the two men remarked" with a wry smile. "But that 
 doesn't alter my case. Here I am, housebreaker, un- 
 derdog in general, and broke, and you haven't turned 
 me over to the police yet." 
 
 "Well," Bosworth spoke slowly, *'I guess that if 
 you want to go to the station, you can, but if I were 
 
 (40) 
 
THE SQUAREST WAY 
 
 you, I would look the world in the face again and ac- 
 cept a position as representative for the Bosworth 
 company in South America." 
 
 The other man's face was a stage upon which 
 various emotions mingled and intermingled. His chance 
 to play square had come. Would he, could he really 
 trust himself to play straight? 
 
 "Do you think that you could trust me, Mr.— er—?" 
 "Bosworth," the bachelor supplemented. 
 ''Bosworth? Not Clint Bosworth?" 
 "The very same." 
 
 "And I always used to call you the ''Square Play" 
 kid! Well, I guess it pays to go straight, all right. 
 But do you think that you can trust a man who plays 
 dirty like me?" 
 
 "I can't trust in a man who plays dirty, no. But 
 I do trust in a man who sees his mistakes and is wilhng 
 to start clean again. I am willing to risk it if you are." 
 "Bosworth," the other man whispered huskily, 
 "you're square. I've played with you in football and 
 fouled you. I've taunted you about being a 'square play' 
 sissy, and all that, and still you are square with me 
 when I'm down." 
 
 "Man," Bosworth looked friendly-like into the 
 other's eyes, "back at the old Academy they taught us 
 that square play and fair play were two pretty good 
 things to learn." 
 
 "It seems to me that the old Academy's just about 
 right," agreed the man who wanted to learn how to 
 
 play square. 
 
 (41) 
 
TAPS 
 
 Some months later, as Bosworth settled himself 
 for a quiet evening in his apartment, he discovered a 
 letter on the table bearing the post-mark of a commer- 
 cial center in South America. 
 
 It was from the superintendent of his foreign 
 branches of the Bosworth Company. As the young 
 man scanned the letter his face assumed an expression 
 of complete satisfaction. The man who wanted to play 
 square was recommended for a higher position. There 
 was one passage especially that Bosworth dwelt on. 
 
 " and he is gaining fame for himself and his 
 
 company by his determined stand for fair play." 
 
 Clinton Bosworth laid the letter aside and picked 
 up the very book that he had pondered over some time 
 before. 
 
 "For good reading," he said, addressing the book, 
 "you're rotten." 
 
 And thereupon he tossed it into the flames. 
 
 (42) 
 
PART in 
 
A BREATH 0' SPRING 
 
 When the maple trees are buddin', 
 
 And the honey bees are buzzin', 
 
 All the flowers are sayin', "Howdedo !"— 
 
 Then I want to be a-walkin', 
 
 Along country roads a-stalkin', 
 
 A-fergittin' school and huntin 'ventures new. 
 
 When the robins are a-wingin', 
 
 Or in nests they are a-singin' 
 
 Of the places they have been to see; 
 
 Then I feel my heart a-thumpin', 
 
 In my throat it's fairly lumpin'— 
 
 Cause signs o' spring, they m.ean a lot to me. 
 
 Yes, it's wanderlust that's callin', ^ 
 With the pink peach blooms a-fallin' 
 And butterflies a-sailin' through the air;. 
 When the apple trees are bloomin', 
 Then m.y lessons aren't a-loomin', 
 And it seems to me I haven't got a care. 
 
 Well, the spring it comes a-bringin' 
 Soft-like breezes, kind-a springin' 
 Out o' nothin', it always seemed to me. 
 Then I take my pole for fishin' 
 And I set out, well nigh w^shin' 
 That the sun wa'n't a shinin' quite so free. 
 (45) 
 
TAPS 
 
 But it's spring, and I'm a-livin', 
 
 And a tan to me it's givin', 
 
 And makes me most fergit that I've a care. 
 
 It's the wanderlust that's cravin' — 
 
 There's some folks may think I'm ravin', 
 
 Just to long for lands that's always green and fair. 
 
 Ain't it funny, 'bout the hopin', — 
 
 Never think about the mopin', 
 
 When just a breath o' spring is in the air! 
 
 (46) 
 
STUNG! 
 
 " In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to 
 
 thoughts of love." — Tennyson. 
 
 I am a rat. Not one of those rodent kind of rats, 
 but a boy kind. Now a ''rat" at the old Academy is a 
 new boy. No matter who, or where, or how he came, a 
 new boy is a "rat". 
 
 It has been that way from time eternal, I guess. 
 Even the commandant himself can't remember when 
 that appelation has not been attached to the new boys. 
 
 Not that it is a disgrace to be a rat, oh no ! But 
 the social standing of that class is not quite on the par, 
 so to speak, with the Old Men. However, when all 
 the cards are counted, we don't have such a bad time 
 after all. 
 
 But the fact is, a fellow does hate to be a kind of 
 outcast in society, and although there is no written law 
 on the subject, a rat has about as good a chance of 
 getting into society as he has of taking a street car 
 ride in the little city of Mexico. — There are no street 
 cars in Mexico. 
 
 The town girls usually prefer to go with the other 
 men, the "older men" as they call them. No self-re- 
 specting damsel v/ill go with so lowly a person as a 
 new man. Who is a new man, they inquire rather 
 scornfully, that they should waste their home-made 
 fudge on one. 
 
 So that is the reason for this story. I, my Caesar 
 book, a friendly hornet, and the fact that I am a rat. 
 
 (47) 
 
TAPS 
 
 A Caesar book and a hornet, you murmur. Then 
 you look about the landscape for a possible answer to 
 the riddle. There is only one who can tell you, and 
 that person is I. 
 
 To begin with, it was a beautiful spring day. As 
 a great many spring days are beautiful, when they 
 aren't rainy, it doesn't matter a great deal just what 
 day it was. But the fact that it was pleasantly warm, 
 and that it w^as the kind of weather that makes a fel- 
 low want to go swimming, will suffice. 
 
 I am not the sort of a fellow to especially incline 
 myself toward studying, and plowing through Caesar, 
 in particular ! But for some unknown reason, I grasped 
 my Latin book and sped for the sheltering coolness of 
 a big elm. The campus is dotted with large trees, and 
 this one was a particular haunt of mine. 
 
 The drill period was over and the cadets had been 
 given off-campus privileges. It was stranger still that 
 I did not go dov/n town, for Duncan's has always 
 been a sort of hang-out with me, and I enjoy nothing 
 more than to sit in the balcony and eat fancy sundaes 
 and watch the pretty town-girls as they stroll in for 
 an afternoon ice. I have never been able to decide 
 whether they came for the refreshments or whether 
 they just wanted to show their newest dresses off. 
 
 Now at the outset it would appear as if I were up 
 to something. That under my hated thatch of fiery 
 red, my mind was contemplating new hoaxes to spring 
 upon an unsuspecting faculty. 
 
 (48) 
 
STUNG 
 
 But no, the thought of new adventures had not en- 
 tered my mind. I was intent on my Caesar book, and 
 as I lay sprawled out under the tree with my nose 
 buried in that relic of the past, I sneezed. A bit of 
 dust had taken refuge in my sensitive facial appendage, 
 and that, combined with a particularly difficult passage 
 in my Caesar lesson, made the time all the more conve- 
 nient for a heary ''Ker-chew !" 
 
 But that sneeze was the undoing of one young, 
 but not wise, rat. For just as I was about to pay hom- 
 age to the particles of dust that had familiarized them- 
 selves with me, a hot-headed hornet flitted gently over 
 my body and landed lightly on my ear. Evidently the 
 hornet liked the ear. It was sunburned and freckled, 
 and perhaps a trifle dirty, but, on the whole, it was a 
 very satisfactory ear, or so thought the gentleman hor- 
 net. 
 
 Now since the very first hornet's nest, these hot- 
 headed creatures have ahvays manifested a great dis- 
 like against sudden movements. Perhaps in the original 
 nest, in the Garden of Eden, Adam accidentally mas- 
 sacred one of the hornet family by dislodging it from 
 his person. According to the best of records, Adam 
 wore rather light clothing in those days and was quite 
 ticklish. Any v/ay the hornet family have always har- 
 bored ill will against the person who so rudely dis- 
 turbs their basking meditations. Or so it was with that 
 particular hornet vrho took such an unmistakable fancy 
 to my ear. 
 
 (49) 
 
TAPS 
 
 I sneezed. And as I said before, it was my un- 
 doing. For at that moment I jerked my head in sym- 
 pathetic motion with the sneeze, giving Sir Hornet a 
 terrible jolt. It seemed incomprehensible to him that a 
 human being didn't enjoy his company, especially a 
 human with such fine, freckled ears. This made the 
 hornet very angry. He re-alighted on the same ear, 
 and, with that same instinct which is inherent in the best 
 of us, severely repremanded said ear. 
 
 I rose from the ground with a shriek. To have 
 heard it, one would have thought that I was on the 
 verge of being massacred. The Caesar book fell sprawl- 
 ing to the ground in all its ancient dignity. The beauty 
 of the day, the picturesque qualities of the countryside, 
 all this was lost to me. At that moment, I was most 
 busily engaged in hopping up and down with pain, 
 holding on to a fast swelling ear lobe. 
 
 The hornet had gotten his revenge. Considering 
 the pain to which I was subjected, one must shudder 
 when it comes to thinking of the torture Adam must 
 have tmdergone in his fig-leaf habiliment. 
 
 The ear hurt very much. In fact, it hurt so much 
 that I almost missed seeing a very prettily dressed girl 
 walk past on the other side of the road. 
 
 In a moment hornet stings and Caesar book was 
 forgotten. *'By the holy apes of Timbuctoo, what a 
 pippin!" I managed to articulate. "Gosh," I added, ''I 
 wish I wasn't a rat." 
 
 Then I turned to get a better view of the fair 
 damsel. Her face was hidden from my view by a 
 
 (50) 
 
STUNG 
 
 dainty little parasol and a poke bonnet affair in pink 
 that looked like a breath from paradise. She wore long, 
 white gloves, and the tiniest pair of walking slippers 
 that I have ever seen. "Oh, boy!" I sighed. ''What 
 a pippin." The temptation was too great. 
 
 What did it matter if I was a rat. She didn't need 
 to knov/ that I was one. It wasn't any of her business 
 anyhow. It never entered my head to doubt that the 
 fair damsel would not consider a chance acquaintance- 
 ship. Why, I meant all right, and it was perfectly 
 right for me to speak to her. She couldn't any more 
 than turn me down. 
 
 I argued it out with myself as I crossed the road 
 vv^hich formed the limits on the western edge of the 
 campus, and began to follow the lady of the parasol, 
 long white gloves, and poke bonnet. She turned in the 
 direction of town. Somehow, my courage oozed just 
 a little. Not much, but just a little, you understand. I 
 thought it wiser to take a look at her face first. . I was 
 tolerably sure that she was good looking, but still, I 
 wanted to be sure, so I followed her. I was determined 
 to see her face. 
 
 Try as hard as I could, I could not see her face. 
 I hazarded all sorts of guesses as to the color of her 
 eyes, and the kind of smile she would bestow upon me, 
 if she had any. I doggedly followed in her wake, 
 turning this street and that. And at every turn, it 
 seemed as if purely for torment, this young lady of the 
 poke bonnet, parasol, and oh yes, I forgot to mention, 
 
 (51) 
 
TAPS 
 
 delicate pink dress, lowered her sun-shade just enough 
 to keep me from seeing what she looked like. How 
 I did w^ant to see whether her eyes were brown. I 
 simply must see. I certainly hadn't walked all this way 
 without even getting a glimpse of my lady of a mo- 
 ment's adoration. 
 
 Sometimes, especially in the spring, when, accord- 
 ing to that much quoted saying, concerning just where 
 a young man's thoughts turn to, boys have queer 
 troubles w^ith their hearts. Not regular heart disease, 
 you understand, but a rather undefinable, hurting ail- 
 ment that only a very pretty young lady can cure. It 
 was the same way with me. Here I hadn't even found 
 a chance to see what she looked like and here I was 
 head over heels in love with her just because she wore 
 a light pink dress, low slippers, and a peach of a bon- 
 net. Yet I would never have admitted to anyone that 
 I felt this way about the girl. I really began to doubt 
 it myself. Me, in love? Nonsense, who ever heard of 
 such a thing! One just can't help feehng a little dif- 
 ferent in the spring, that's all. But still I continued to 
 follow the elusive maiden. 
 
 If you have ever been a young fellovv- and let a 
 dandy spring day work on you a bit, then you are in 
 a position to sympathize with me. The excruciating de- 
 sire I had of catching just one glimpse of her face, her 
 eyes, or even a word from her gentle lips. 
 
 Now I had no idea as to just how she looked, but 
 I was so sure that she had brown eyes, that I would 
 have waged my last cent of spending-money on it. 
 
 (52) 
 
STUNG 
 
 The everlasting theory that, '' — in the spring a young 
 man's thought's — ," fairly throbbed in my head. "Rot", 
 I tried to convince myself again. ''Whoever heard of 
 a cadet falling in love with a girl just because — ." And 
 here I would stop and list all of her salient features 
 again. 
 
 "Gee, if I could only see what she looks like," I 
 sighed. "Golly, but she's a pippin," I added for at least 
 the seventeenth time. 
 
 For you see, I had not yet reached that stage of 
 near-manhood where one considers himself too digni- 
 fied to go tracking about the town on the trail of a pre- 
 sumably pretty young lady. 
 
 It was a merry chase she led me. And a chase in 
 which she seemed never tiring. Finally she passed the 
 hotel where the cadets always made themselves at home 
 on off-campus days, much to the satisfaction of the 
 owner and his pocketbook. 
 
 Across the railroad tracks and on toward Warden 
 Seminary for Girls. Nice place, Warden, but was it 
 possible that she was a seminary girl? No, it couldn't 
 be possible, I decided. This maiden had such a dis- 
 tinguished carriage; she appeared so different from 
 most of the Warden girls I had seen. I was plainly 
 puzzled. I was sure she wasn't a town girl, for none 
 could equal her grace and carriage, and she seemed un- 
 like any of the seminary girls. Who was she? 
 
 But soon it proved that the seminary was not her 
 destination. Instead, it was the only park that the 
 
 (53) 
 
TAPS 
 
 town, or I should say, small city of Mexico possessed. 
 A park that consisted wholly of a marble monument 
 erected in honor of a former famous citizen, several 
 hundred blades of grass and a few trees. Also a ce- 
 ment walk or two. 
 
 It was a small, sedate park, and I thought that I 
 ought not to have much trouble in meeting the girl and 
 finding out for sure w^hether her eyes were brown or 
 not. She sat herself dow^n on one of the somber green 
 park benches. She appeared to be waiting for someone. 
 Perhaps for me ! 
 
 I crept around the former citizen's monument in 
 order to get a glimpse of her face. But it happened 
 that even on a spring day fate was against me. I could 
 not see. It w^as her parasol again. 
 
 As I stood behind the marble shaft, trying my level 
 best to observe the color of her eyes, a colored person 
 came strolling along the path. The colored person, a 
 gentleman, also gave evidence of having been smitten 
 by the weather. For he, too, seemed to have the not 
 altogether strange desire of finding out the color of the 
 little lady's orbs. 
 
 But this polished chocolate-colored sport was far 
 more bold, but not more curious than I. Perhaps he 
 had been schooled in the w^ays of the world longer than 
 I. At any rate he seemed to have no hesitancy in ad- 
 dressing the young lady of the pink dress, white gloves 
 and various other wearing apparel. 
 
 "Wa'l, honey, how'se yuh today? Sweet as peaches 
 an' cream, I declar'." 
 
 ■ (54) 
 
STUNG 
 
 I was astounded. Even indignant. The very au- 
 dacity of the colored gentleman caused me temporarily 
 to lose the power of speech or action. Then as the 
 realization of the insult that had been offered to my 
 lady of the parasol, pink dress, poke bonnet, long white 
 gloves, and last, but not least, low slippers, I awoke to 
 action. With a bound I separated myself from the 
 somewhat clammy embrace of the former citizen's 
 monument, hurdled an empty bench, and, with a face 
 resembling the very color of my hair, which is red, I 
 confronted the colored gentleman, and the lady of the 
 brown eyes, presumably. 
 
 The astonishment of both the young lady and the 
 dusky sport was mutual, to say the least. And as the 
 girl that I had followed through the weltering heat of 
 a spring day, the girl I had set my heart upon, raised 
 her questioning eyes to my angry ones, I saw that her 
 eyes were brown. 
 
 Her eyes were brown, yes, but by all the seven 
 holy apes of Timbuctoo, so was her skin ! — 
 
 So that is the reason that I was perfectly willing 
 to go back to the academy that afternoon, a sadder,, 
 and much wiser rat. Back to my neglected Caesar, who 
 was standing on his head, just as I had dropped him! 
 
 Pyschologists say that the strain of revenge runs 
 through many generations. I do not know whether this 
 is true or not, but I do know that the revenge that the 
 original hornets back there in the Garden of Eden 
 started in their family when Adam destroyed one, cer- 
 tainly has gone through a good many ages, in no whit 
 lessened to vent itself upon me, a poor, ear-swollen rat. 
 
 (55) 
 
PART IV. 
 
ALONE 
 
 From a barracks room window at starlight 
 
 At midnight hour, 
 
 Alone, alone, 
 
 I sit and watch the silver star, 
 
 Twinkling, shine in the sky above. 
 
 Humans asleep on night of paradise! 
 
 Blind men, mortals all. 
 
 And silent as a sleeping lark. 
 
 I sit and watch, 
 
 Alone, alone. 
 
 And know 
 
 That I have met my God. 
 
 (57) 
 
TAPS 
 
 THE BLINDNESS OF JERRY 
 
 Jerry Simmons tilted his chair against the radiator. 
 The air was crisp outside and his barracks room was 
 not altogether warm. It seemed as if the heat was 
 always turned on just at the wrong time. If the 
 weather were mild, the steam was sure to be on in full 
 force, but if it were cold, — that was an altogether dif- 
 ferent proposition. 
 
 To tell the truth, it had not been very long before 
 that Jerry Simmons hesitated not in the least to an- 
 nounce the fact to all who came within his hearing, that 
 he didn't like the academy at all. He had gradually 
 acquired the reputation of being a chronic grouch. 
 But now, all was changed. 
 
 Before Simmons had come to the academy he had 
 been a merry-souled fellow, full of pep and initiative. 
 But the fact that he came against his will, that he was 
 becoming too great a burden for his invalid mother, 
 was extremely distasteful to him. 
 
 Never before had Jerry Simmons been thwarted 
 by his parents in a single desire. He had always been 
 carefree, with plenty of spending money and that happy 
 disposition for making friends readily. He drove his 
 own car, and in general, had his own way about every- 
 thing. There was nothing really bad about Simmons 
 except that he was spoiled. Luckily for him, although 
 he could not see it that way, his parents finally came to 
 
 (58) 
 
THE BLINDNESS OF JERRY 
 
 a reaiization of the fact. He was gradually killing off 
 his mother. He did not dream for an instant that he 
 Vv^as the cause of her failing health; that her constant 
 worrying about him was bringing her just that much 
 nearer to the somber valley of shadows. 
 
 He loved his mother as any good son would. It 
 was only that he was selfish and self-centered that he 
 Winded himself to the actual conditions. It was the 
 family doctor who really succeeded in sending the boy 
 away to school. It was the same family doctor that 
 seriously explained to Jerry that he was the source of 
 his mother's ill health. Of course, young Simmons was 
 naturally sobered by this conference with the doctor, 
 but in a few days it had fled from his mind, and he 
 merely laughed at the good physician for being an 
 "old fogy." 
 
 Finally matters came to a head. Jerry refused 
 outright to obey his father. His mother was in tears. 
 Just then the family doctor arrived, with the result that 
 Jerry Simmons found himself sent off to a good mili- 
 tary school, where he was to learn to forget his own 
 desires in the preference of others. 
 
 Upon his entrance into the academy life, Sim- 
 mons seemed to fall into deep, gloomy moods which left 
 him irritable and grouchy. He hated the fellows, the 
 faculty, the commandant, — everybody, in fact, who had 
 any connection with the school. 
 
 To him, it was simply a prison, where all good 
 times were taken away, where smoking was under a ban 
 
 (59) 
 
TAPS 
 
 and a fellow couldn't stay up after nine o'clock. All 
 this disgusted the lad. And to add to his troubles, he 
 developed a severe case of measles vv^ith the result that 
 he was isolated for many weeks. 
 
 When he was pronounced well by the school phy- 
 sician, he found the drill and the military life all the 
 more distasteful. He grew so disagreeable that the 
 other cadets got so that they would have nothing to do 
 with him, and the nickname of "Grouchy Simmons" 
 soon became torture in his ears. Sometimes he almost 
 wished that he could die. 
 
 And in his darkest moods he sometimes doubted 
 that even his mother loved him, — his mother who had 
 lived her life for him. Terrible and depressing were 
 these blotches in his school life. No one liked him, 
 and he liked no one. 
 
 If he had only cared, just a little bit, it would have 
 been different. But he didn't. He took the same Hst- 
 less attitude about his studies. The only thing that 
 seemed to rouse any interest in him was a fair haired 
 baby girl that was the daughter of one of the faculty 
 captains. Her dainty smile and delicate, flaxen hair 
 caused a warm spot to grow in his heart. But for an 
 instant only. Then his everyday reserve would fall on 
 him like an ill-fitting cloak, and he would become the 
 same old "Grouchy Simmons" again. 
 
 Then he went home on a furlough, but stayed only 
 for a day. His conduct had been very bad, and had 
 had such a disastrous effect on his mother, that he was 
 compelled to leave his home again. 
 
 (60) 
 
THE BLINDNESS OF JERRY 
 
 The trip back to the academy was not a pleasant 
 one for the boy. The wan, tired expression on his 
 mother's face haunted him. It seemed to hang before 
 his eyes, and his heart was filled w4th remorse, and a 
 sort of vain regret. He was going to the bad, and he 
 knew it. He shuddered. It was not the academy's 
 fault, he decided, on the trip to the school. The fel- 
 fellows were of a good sort, and the academy was a 
 good old school. It was while he was riding on that 
 train, alone with his thoughts, that the true realization 
 of his error came upon him in all its magnitude. The 
 fault vvas with him, and him alone ! 
 
 He silently resolved to better his ways. He was 
 tired of being called a grouch. He threw away a 
 nevv^y-lighted cigarette with disgust. It seemed to taste 
 bitter in his mouth. 
 
 The decision w^as made. He was going to start a 
 thorough cleaning out of one Jerry Simmons, cadet. 
 And, as the veil of self-centered blindness fell from 
 him, he saw through the bandage of selfishness which 
 had come so near ruining his life. Saw through it and 
 beyond. How he v/as really to blame for his mother's 
 ill health, and hoy.' the family doctor was right. 
 
 Jerry Simm.ons was- filled v/ith remorse, not that 
 flitting kind, but the remorse which marks an epoch in 
 a m.an's life. As the train steamed into the Mexico 
 station, on its way to a mid-western metropolis, Sim- 
 mons felt that he had conquered. An indefinable feel- 
 ing of exaltation swept through him, as he stepped to 
 
 (61) 
 
TAPS 
 
 the pavement and chartered a taxi to take him to the 
 academy. He was m.aster of himself once more. 
 
 Even his fellow cadets noticed the change in the 
 boy. It was remarked that "Grouchy Simmons" had 
 lost his surliness. From that moment on, his com- 
 panions grew more charitable toward him, and a month 
 later he was in good standing with the cadets. They 
 sometimes paused to wonder just what had occurred in 
 Jerry's life to mark such a change of temper. 
 
 The fellows fell into the habit of fraternizing with 
 him, and calling him just plain "Jerry." The better 
 side of the boy was steadily coming to the front, and 
 the improvements, for such they were, v/ere readily 
 welcomed by the busy commandant and here-to-fore- 
 puzzled instructors. 
 
 As the saying wa^ among the cadets, Jerry Sim- 
 mons had "gone over." Or, in more common language, 
 Jerry Simmons had become a man. 
 
 The boy tilted back against the only radiator that 
 his rather bare room acknowledged. It was rather cold 
 in the room, and at a previous time, he probably would 
 have growled about it, and complained to the officer in 
 charge of the barracks concerning it. But this night 
 he did not. He had long since lost the name of 
 "Grouchy," and he was earnestly trying to live up to 
 the record he was making for himself anew. Not one 
 of surliness, but of friendliness. It was the Jerry of 
 old, only changed, in some regards, that tilted his chair 
 against the only purveyor of warmth that the room 
 
 (62) 
 
THE BLINDNESS OF JERRY 
 
 possessed. His room-mate was absent on a furlough, 
 so the boy had the room to himself. He and his room- 
 mate had become close friends since his, Jerry's last 
 trip home, and they found that they had many things 
 in common. 
 
 He missed his friend very much, and the solitude 
 of a bare room did not especially appeal to the cadet. 
 He was idly dreaming of the vacation to come, when 
 he should go home and show his parents that he really 
 loved and appreciated them. He thought, with a tender 
 smile, of the many little things that he could do to 
 make his mother happy, and how glad she would be to 
 find that he had changed. His mind was on these 
 things when he was rudely awakened from his reveries 
 by a sharp, authoritive knock on the door. He sprang 
 to attention. The door opened, and the commandant 
 stood in the doorway. 
 
 ''Simmons," he said with a rather sober look on his 
 face, " have something to tell you." 
 
 Jerry wondered what it was. 
 
 Then, as the comjmandant gave the boy "at ease," 
 'T have something unpleasant to tell you, and I think 
 that it is best over with at once." 
 
 "Yes, sir," the boy managed to reply. 
 
 "I have just received a telegram," he commenced 
 w4th appalling slowness, "that says your mother passed 
 away last night." 
 
 Jerry gave a little gasp. It was all so sudden, so 
 unexpected. The color left his cheek, and the officer 
 
 (63) 
 
TAPS 
 
 feared that he was going to faint. All the hope, the 
 expectation, the effort the boy had made had gone for 
 naught ! 
 
 His mother — gone. 
 
 He regained control of himself enough to ask, 
 "May I be alone, sir?" 
 
 The commandant had the sympathetic nature which 
 allowed him to understand just what agony the boy 
 was going through, so he very quietly closed the door 
 and left the boy alone. 
 
 But Jerry Simmons was not alone, for the image 
 of his mother seemed to stand before him, and Jerry 
 could almost imagine her saying in her calm, sweet 
 voice, "There, there, Jerry, don't grieve; I am very 
 happy now." 
 
 The world became of a sudden but an empty 
 space, a place of utter loneliness. With his mother 
 gone, his heart was dead. He had bettered himself for 
 her, and now all his effort had come to naught. 
 
 He sobbed quietly. The room seemed so bare, and 
 so cold. The hours passed, and he sat, staring at noth- 
 ing, alone. Presently the kind hearted officer looked 
 in on the boy to find him asleep. Jerry had worn him- 
 self out with his grief, and lay with his head resting on 
 his arms — a picture of utter loneliness. 
 
 Jerry dreamt that he could see his miother, and she 
 was in some beautiful land. Her arms were stretched 
 tovv'ard him but he did not seem able to go to her. Her 
 voice soothed his ears, and the dream passed away. 
 
 (64) 
 
THE BLINDNESS OF JERRY 
 
 When he awoke it was far into the night. His was the 
 only Ught burning. He was not the broken boy he had 
 been a few hours before. The vision of his mother had 
 given him courage, and that courage was still dominant 
 in him. 
 
 He left the academy the next day amid the heart- 
 felt consolations of his friends. How different this de- 
 parture was from his last. Then no one had cared 
 about him. And now — . 
 
 He choked a bit as he climbed aboard the train. 
 It seemed so hard to leave all these friends, and the 
 old school, and everything. But his father needed him, 
 and Jerry knew that his place was v/ith his father. 
 
 Dear old dad, he must have taken it hard. His 
 mother's passing had come so suddenly that it hardly 
 seemed possible that she would not greet him when he 
 entered the house. He pictured his father, and how he, 
 Jerry, would end his school days, and prove of real 
 use to the man who loved him as a father loves even 
 his most wayward son. Simmons' eyes were misty 
 with tender recollections. He gave a sigh of relief as 
 he bounded off the train at his destination, and into the 
 big, strong arms of his father. 
 
 "Sonny," was all the man said, but in that word 
 lay a meaning so big, and so deep, Jerry felt as if his 
 father was the finest man in all the world. 
 
 "Well, Dad," the boy began bravely, 'T guess that 
 now Mother's sleeping, we'll have to kind of pal along 
 together somehow." 
 
 "Yes, son, w^e will." 
 
 (65) 
 
TAPS 
 
 Then followed weeks in which Jerry proved him- 
 self the man that he had shown himself to be at the 
 academy. He was a constant source of comfort to his 
 father, and there sprang between the two a new com- 
 radeship — not that of father and son, but of brother to 
 brother. 
 
 When the first poignant grief had worn itself 
 away, and the dusk of time had obliterated the sharp 
 realization of a great loss, Jerry returned to the 
 academy. 
 
 It was his mother's unspoken wish, both felt. So 
 the day came when Jerry returned to school for the 
 third time, carrying with him, locked deep into the in- 
 nermost recesses of his heart, a tender, delicate love 
 for the mother who gave him birth, and a splendid, 
 manly feeling toward the man who was now to him 
 f a!h er, — mother, — pal. 
 
 (66) 
 
PART V. 
 
THE BISHOP VISITS 
 
 It is not with the intention of telUng a good one 
 on myself that I set down this tale of an innocent, re- 
 hgious and susceptible rat. Never ! But fond recol- 
 lection sits heavily upon my brow tonight as did sit the 
 Raven on Pallas' bust. Can a rat have endearing recol- 
 lections, devote considerable time to deep and silent 
 meditation, wander from prank to prank and hoax to 
 hoax without learning something? I doubt it. I ought 
 to know; I am a rat. 
 
 But away from this dry bit of pondering, and let 
 me tell you a tale that will guide your innocent foot- 
 steps and deliver you from the snares which I fell into. 
 I am worldly-wise now. I can look back at my indis- 
 cretions with a sophisticated smile. I have been elevated 
 to a higher plane than that which the uninitiated belong 
 to. I have had experience, and lb, I am still here. 
 
 Docihty has never been a particular pet of mine. 
 Docility and red heads do not often prove congenial. 
 Once I had a very trying experience with an unfriendly 
 member of the hornet family, as perhaps I have related 
 to you previously, and one would think that I would 
 have been subdued in spirit and have become a nice 
 docile rat. But as I said, red heads and docility are 
 not friends. 
 
 But in refutation for my various mistakes and mis- 
 demeanors, I can only point out to you what to avoid, 
 
 (69) 
 
TAPS 
 
 and satisfy my heart and conscience that I have set 
 some friend on the right path. I said that I was sophis- 
 ticated now; that I had passed into a different plane 
 than those who never tasted of experience. But even 
 then, I am still a rat. 
 
 I will not go into digressions on the advantages or 
 disadvantages of the rat family. As it is said at the 
 old academy, a rat is only a rat, and nothing more. I 
 will let this suffice for any digression that might be 
 made on the subject. But the point is, whether or not, 
 it is my solemn duty to warn you from certain evils, 
 and start a brother rat or new boy on the upper path. 
 
 While my state of deep and sincere — I assure 
 you they are sincere — recollections roosts upon my 
 noble freckled forehead, as did the ever meditative 
 Raven moult his very life away caressing Pallas' bust, 
 so will I relate my own sad but sweet experience with 
 that most deceptive of all things — barracks room re- 
 ligion. 
 
 Never heard of it, you say? Most likely not, if 
 you have never attended the old academy as a cadet. 
 Only the presence of a uniform and a pocket full of 
 spending m.oney admits one to the sacred precepts of 
 barracks room religion. 
 
 I look back over the time, only a short time ago, 
 when I, in all my red headed ignorance and hornet 
 stung innocence fell heir to a bad attack of this so- 
 called religion. As I look back — it is now with the 
 blase smile of the knowing — that I can see what an 
 
 (70) 
 
THE BISHOP VISITS 
 effective thing barracks room religion is. So simple; 
 but the results! Perhaps, and I would not tell this to 
 everybody, I will practice a little of this religion next 
 
 year myself. . , i 
 
 However that has nothing to do with the story. 
 Barracks room religion, my friend, is a wonderful thmg. 
 Only, and take it from one who knows, never get it 
 very bad into your system. It don't pay. 
 Barracks room religion? Never again! 
 And thereby lies my sad experience. I have re- 
 solved to set it before you in all its barren truthfulness. 
 Painful the remembrance, but it is for your good, my 
 friend, and lend me your ear for a moment while I 
 pour the anointed oil of experience down it. 
 
 In my childhood— I speak from the height of six 
 feet I went to Sunday school and was as nice a little 
 boy' as any one could wish for. I said my prayers 
 every night and blessed everybody from the teacher 
 down to the collie pup. I had been instilled with a 
 holy respect for the good old carpet slipper and nothing 
 filled me with the desire so much to become a member 
 of a church as the day when parental rule forbade me 
 to indulge in a pleasant swim on a balmy Sabbath. I 
 was very desirous of becoming a church member that 
 day. I need not add that I thought to evade parental 
 authority by getting a swim while being baptized. 
 
 Even those days are but passing memories com- 
 pared to my experience with religion as they dealt it 
 out at the old academy at Mexico. 
 
 (71) 
 
TAPS 
 
 I roomed in what is known as Nortli barracks. 
 Except for a few instances where my redheaded tem- 
 perment overcam.e my mannerly rat restraint, I hved 
 in comfortable peace. As I recall it, the Dean was hav- 
 ing a series of religious speakers address the cadets, 
 and a few of us new men had become considerably im- 
 pressed by their vast and glorious descriptions of the 
 future life. So, as a result, I made a solemn vow to 
 walk hereafter the straight and narrow. So far, so 
 good, but that is not all 
 
 I did not know, for ignorance is bliss with a rat, 
 that in getting religion, I would have such disastrous 
 results. My cheeks glowed as healthily as a polished 
 Hood River apple. I thought religion and slept religion. 
 So that is how I became a victim — I have only myself 
 to blame — of deadly barracks room religion. Now it 
 leaked out in the barracks that I had changed my mode 
 of living. I had my shoes shined every morning, which 
 v/as unusual for me. I even behaved so well that the 
 commandant asked me if I were feeling well. Imagine 
 asking a redhead if he felt well ! 
 
 I have always accused my roomate, Courtenay, of 
 being responsible for my little flier into barracks room 
 religion. I presume he endured my piousness as long 
 as he could and then put his foot down in this manner. 
 
 I was so serious — a rat can be serious, you know, 
 that I never even suspected anything out of the ordi- 
 nary when Courtenay came into the room one night just 
 before taps and said the bishop had come out to hold 
 
 (72) 
 
THE BISHOP VISITS 
 the evening services. Now, even at that time, I thought 
 it rather strange that the bishop, for such my room 
 mate termed him, would come out to the academy at 
 such an hour. But then, I considered, he might have 
 just gotten through with services elsewhere and was do- 
 ing us a real favor by coming to talk to us. 
 
 I was so enthusiastic that I would have it no other 
 way except that the fellows let him hold his services 
 right in my room. The barracks officer was visiting m 
 town and I knew that there would be little chance for 
 interruption. And what matter if an inspection was 
 made, it would be perfectly all right with the bishop 
 there. So Courtenay went to get some of the other 
 fellows whom he said would be interested and they 
 came in and settled themselves just before the reverend 
 gentleman appeared. 
 
 We could hear him climbing the stairs. His walk 
 
 was somewhat irregular, I thought, and I presumed him 
 
 to be lame. A moment later the bishop stood m the 
 
 doorway. He peered into the room smiling benevolently 
 
 upon us. I rose to greet him. He was a funny looking 
 
 person. He spoke in a dryed-up tone which reminded 
 
 me immediately of a wisp of alfalfa that was trying to 
 
 make an impression against the summer wind. I could 
 
 not see his eyes, but they must have been very weak, 
 
 for he wore smoked glasses to shield them from the 
 
 light. His collar was shghtly askew, and he gave the 
 
 appearance of having forgotten to shave. Nevertheless, 
 
 I took an immediate liking to him. He seemed so kmd 
 
 (73) 
 
TAPS 
 
 and so helpless that I took instant pity on him because 
 of his infirmity. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, who introduced himself to 
 me as the Bishop of Luckner, who presided over the 
 district of Duncans— a sort of religion I was inclined 
 to think at that time, although I found that I was mis- 
 taken later, received me very kindly. I told him my life 
 history and haw many time I had been converted. Then 
 he suggested that the opening prayer be held. His 
 voice, as I said before, was wispish; yet there was such 
 earnestness, such deep notes of emotion at times that 
 my heart went out to him and I felt that I had indeed 
 met a wonderful man. The others seemed to enter into 
 the service with unusual religious zeal, and sprinkled 
 his blessing with an occasional ''Amen!" 
 
 '•'Bless us this evening," the bishop of Luckner 
 pra3-ed, "for the lives of all these pure little lambs 
 here tonight. May Duncan and all the high potentiaries 
 of the old academy be filled with loving kindness; and 
 bless, if you will, the noble gymnasium, the cigarettes, 
 which you are not allowed to smoke ; bless all the meals, 
 and may the Lord do his best to make them better. 
 Bless this young man," here he pointed solemnly to me, 
 "for all his noble deeds and instill in him a freedom 
 v/ith his coin for the benefit of religion, and bless the 
 most supreme of all, the O. D." 
 
 So far the bishop was very much in earnest. Now 
 that I look back I can see how very ignorant of things 
 I must have been. Although I did not quite catch the 
 
 (74) 
 
THE BISHOP VISITS 
 part about Duncan and the O. D.-I was still new at 
 the school then and had not thought much about ice 
 cream confections and the officer of the day-i saw 
 much of religious value and inspiration m his tnanks- 
 giving and blessing. 
 
 And so the meeting proceeded. Prayer after 
 prayer, benediction after benediction until I began to 
 wonder if there was ever going to be an end to the 
 service. Seemingly not. But presently the reverend 
 gentleman, the bishop of Luckner over the Duncans 
 called upon me to confess my sins. I was very much 
 pleased at the honor thus bestowed upon me and at- 
 tempted to fulfil the request to the best of my imagina- 
 
 '""'vaien I finished telling all the wrong things I had 
 done, and some I hadn't, for I didn't have the heart to 
 disappoint him, the offering came. It was very touch- 
 ing the way the older fellows contributed to the cause. 
 They were almost in tears as they parted with their last 
 cent but after one look at the noble bishop they re- 
 solved themselves to give their all, no matter how small 
 the sum might be. The service had raised me to such 
 a high spiritual plane that I contributed five dollars to 
 the worthy effort-the very five I had received from 
 home that morning and had planned to spend m ways 
 most cordial to one's stomach. 
 
 Just as I had contributed my small but earnest of- 
 fering there came a cry from down the stairs of "Jig- 
 frers the Com." Of a sudden the fellows disappeared 
 ^ ' (75) 
 
TAPS 
 
 as if by magic, and even my good friend the bishop 
 took flight. I stood there thunderstruck. Why should 
 they run away from the commandant. I would tell him 
 what we were doing and it would be all right with him 
 I was sure. 
 
 "Hi, Mr. Bishop," I called after his retreating 
 figure, "It's only the commandant." 
 
 At that moment the officer appeared and he gazed 
 at me in surprise. 
 
 ''What are you doing standing in the hall? What 
 does this mean; why were you yelling? 
 
 'It's this way, sir," I replied. I was a bit in awe 
 of the commandant, even if I had done nothing wrong. 
 "We v/ere having a Bible service with Bishop Luckner 
 of the Duncans and the fellows heard you coming and 
 took the bishop with them. I knew that you wouldn't 
 mind our having a religious meeting so I called after 
 the bishop. That was what you heard me calling." 
 
 "I see," said the commandant. "Now just what 
 sort of a man was this bishop?" 
 
 "He was a fine man, sir. He was medium height, 
 wore smoked glasses on account of weak eyes and walk- 
 ed with a limp." 
 
 "He didn't happen to have a dried-up voice, did 
 he?" 
 
 "Why yes sir, he did." 
 
 "By the way," the commandant asked me, turning 
 his piercing eyes upon me, "how much did you con- 
 tribute ?" 
 
 (76) 
 
THE BISHOP VISITS 
 
 ''Only five, sir." 
 
 "Five what, cents?" 
 
 "No, sir, dollars." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I see. Well, in the future see that this bishop, 
 here he cleared his throat, "doesn't hold any more 
 meetings up here in your room." 
 
 "Yes, sir." I answered respectfully. The com- 
 mandant walked away, while I sought my bed. My 
 room mate crept into the room a moment later. 
 
 "Did you catch the dickens?" he asked as he pulled 
 
 off a sock. 
 
 "Catch nothing," I said scornfully and turned my 
 
 face to the wall. 
 
 In the course of a day or two I happened to be 
 down town. I stopped in at Luckner's confectionery 
 store and ordered my favorite sundae, a Duncan. It 
 was while I was sitting in the balcony devouring my ice 
 cream that the truth suddenly dawned upon me. 
 
 At that moment there entered the store a bunch of 
 the older fellows with the bishop of Luckner over the 
 Duncans with them. Only he did not have on his 
 clerical gown this time. And his smoked glasses and 
 wispish voice were gone. He wore the uniform of a 
 cadet. He approached the check counter. I could 
 scarcely believe my eyes at what I saw and heard. 
 
 "Say, fellows," said my once-v^^as bishop, "here's 
 one on the Red Head." And with that he drew out a 
 
 (77) 
 
TAPS 
 
 five dollar bill, — my five dollar bill, and treated the 
 fellows. 
 
 Well, I know all about barracks room religion now, for 
 to get initiated into it cost me five perfectly good dollars. 
 I can speak with ease upon the subject of some kinds of 
 religion. But after all, it was a lesson to me, and I do 
 not think that I ever shall get in such a state again that 
 I will need another dose of barracks room religion. 
 
 There, my friend, the tale is done. And, if you 
 are willing to let me cast the fond recollection from my 
 noble brow as did Poe vainly try to do with his Raven, 
 I would suggest that now my little tale is spun and I 
 am a much wiser and sophisticated youngster now, and 
 also as it is off-campus privilege, that we take a little 
 hike down to Luckners and watch the girls come in. 
 
 "Barracks room religion, friend? Never again! It 
 costs too much." 
 
 (78) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 The tall, giant firs cast a gloom over the fern-lined 
 trail. It was near dusk, and the shadows had lost their 
 sharpness and blended in with the blue haze of the 
 mountains. The camp fire of a traveler made a tiny 
 speck of gold. Wolves howled as they circled the fire 
 while the occasional scream of a mountain lion echoed 
 and re-echoed up the mountain side. A.n occasional 
 bat flitted silently past, while many of the smaller 
 animals of the wilds v/ere also attracted by the gleam 
 of the flames. 
 
 The traveler had finished his supper, and having 
 stretched himself on his bed of fresh fir boughs, with 
 no other shelter than the stars above, he lighted his 
 pipe, and stared into the fire, watching the flames leap 
 up, sparks chase one another in -endless flight, up into 
 the deep blue-black of the night sky, till they went out, 
 and others took their place. 
 
 Night had fallen nov/ with all its lonesomeness, 
 for nightfall in the mountains is lonesome to the man 
 who does not love the work of nature in the rough. 
 But the traveler was not lonesome. The calls of the 
 night birds, the screeches of the lions and bark of the 
 wolves caused him no worry. He knew that they would 
 not bother him, and were merely curious animals at- 
 tracted by the light of his camp fire. The stranger 
 liked the out-of-doors, and entertained no fear for any 
 
 (79) 
 
TAPS 
 of the beasts of the mountains. The traveler would sit 
 up every nov\^ and then, and listen, as if to catch the 
 sound of approaching footsteps. Then, assured that he 
 had been mistaken, would settle back to his boughs and 
 pipe. 
 
 A point of light appeared far down the mountain 
 side. At first the man could scarcely tell whether he 
 saw it or not. Slowly but steadily the light advanced, 
 and the stranger knew from the position of the light 
 that it would be a full hour and a half before the man 
 who carried it reached the spot where he was camped. 
 
 'Tt must be Tad, all right," the traveler remarked, 
 stretching himself, and piling more logs on the fire. 
 "Guess I had better get a bite to eat for him. He 
 ought to be pretty hungry." The stranger chuckled. 
 He was sure that the approaching light meant the com- 
 ing of his friend, and he was secretly pleased that Tad 
 had had the grit to stick out the hard climb up the 
 mountain at night. 
 
 He put v/ater on to boil, and sat down to await the 
 arrival of the second traveler. The stars shone like a 
 million diadems, and the cool, fresh air, scented with 
 the odor of pines and evergreen made the night one 
 out of a thousand. By day, the mountains, if viewed 
 from a distance, gave the appearance of having a blue 
 haze resting lightly on their tops. For this reason they 
 were called the Blue Mountains. The stranger had grown 
 to love these Oregon hills and the virile life of the red- 
 blooded West pulsated through his veins. He had 
 
 (80) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 grown to love these nights under the open skies, and 
 now that his friend was to join him, he felt that sum- 
 mer held more charms than ever. The tramps, the 
 hunts they would have. 
 
 The light appeared close at hand. He put his hands 
 to his mouth, and hallooed. The echoes flung his cry 
 back again and again. Then he could hear the answer- 
 ing shout. It was Tad! 
 
 Five minutes later the second traveler came into 
 view, flashing his electric torch this way and that over 
 the trail. The camper rose to meet him. 
 
 "Hi, there. Tad. Make it all right?" he greeted. 
 
 ''Sure, Bob. Black as pitch. Got off the trail 
 once or twice, but here I am." The boy, for such he 
 was, unslung the pack from his shoulders and flopped 
 himself down on the fir boughs. 
 
 "Whew," he exclaimed, as he stretched his weary 
 limbs," but that is some climb. Say, Bob, we won't 
 have one like that every day, will we?" His expres- 
 sion was one of such concern that the first traveler 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 "Climb, Tad? Why that will seem like falling off 
 a log by the time we go on some real trips. It just 
 takes a while for one to get toughened up to it, that's 
 all. I didn't expect you to make it up here tonight as 
 well as you did." 
 
 "It helped out, my being up here two summers ago, 
 and then all I had to do was to follow the trail. But 
 even this time I nearly got mixed where that other trail 
 
 (81) 
 
TAPS 
 
 leads off from Sailing's camp to the deep spring. They 
 told me at Aunt Sary McDougal's camp that you had 
 passed along there about noon. They all seemed to 
 wonder why I should be trailing after you at such an 
 hour. Told me there were cougars and wild cats." 
 The boy laughed. 
 
 "Well, Tad, there's nothing hke minding your own 
 business that makes other peoj^e curious," he chuckled. 
 "I guess when it comes to curiosity, these paying-camp- 
 ers who haven't anything to do day in and day out but 
 to sit around or pick huckleberries get the prize." Bob 
 rose and replentished the fire. He yawned. 
 
 " 'Bout time to hit the boughs, eh. Tad ?" he sug- 
 gested, seeing that the boy, a young fellow of about 
 seventeen, with curly brown hair and square, firm chin 
 and steady blue eyes, was already nodding over the 
 scrap of food he had fixed for him. 
 
 ''Suits me," agreed the boy, and arose so suddenly 
 that he nearly spilled the coffee pot into the fire. 
 
 "Say, Bob?" 
 
 "Yes?" queried the other. 
 
 "Do you think I can get strong again like I used 
 to be before I had the accident?" he wistfully asked. 
 
 "Strong? Why you look fine right now." 
 
 "I know it, but ever since that accident I have 
 never felt the same. I'm all right for a spell, and then 
 I get sick again. The doctor says that a summer out- 
 of-doors is the only thing that will get me into shape. 
 
 (S2) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 "I wouldn't worry about it now." Bob replied 
 kindly. "With all this pure air and these pines to smell, 
 no man can stay sick very long." 
 
 "Bob, it was darn decent of you, with plenty of 
 your college fellows to pick from down at Berkeley, to 
 choose me to come along with you." 
 
 "Decent? Say kid, I'd rather spend a summer hik- 
 ing around these oldS4ue Mountains with you than 
 almost any of those fellows who are so used to being 
 waited on that they would have expected to bring along 
 a valet or two on the trip. No siree, kid, I was only 
 doing myself a kindness, and }^ou are the one who is 
 really conferring the favor." 
 
 Tad laughed to hide his emotions. To have the 
 greatest half-back on the coast choose him. as a hiking 
 pal because he really liked him was greater praise than 
 even the President himself could give. The two had 
 grown up together in Pendleton, a town near the moun- 
 tains, and just as Tad was to finish high school the 
 next year. Bob would become a Junior in the university. 
 There was a difference in their ages of perhaps a little 
 over three years. But long companionship had bridged 
 the matter of three years and turned it into a little mat- 
 ter of friendship. 
 
 So here he. Tad, was up on the top of the Blue 
 Mountains vvdth the very best friend that he had. So 
 the scream of the cougars and the hoot of the owls 
 lulled the boy to sleep. And while he slept, the stars 
 shone bright overhead, and the fire burned low. 
 
 (S3) 
 
TAPS 
 
 Six weeks passed. Six weeks of invigorating life, 
 full flooded virility. . They had been a wonderful six 
 weeks to Tad, and although he had been up in the moun- 
 tains many times before for shorter intervals, he had 
 never enjoyed himself as much as these weeks, roaming 
 and exploring, hunting and fishing, living a healthy 
 life with Bob. 
 
 The six weeke were up. In a little while Tad 
 would return to school, a military school in the middle 
 west, this year. It had been decided before he started 
 on his trip that he should go away for his last year of 
 preparatory school work. So in a week or two he 
 would be leaving his Blue Mountains, his Oregon firs 
 and clean, sweet winds, and go away to school. He 
 wondered what kind of a place it would be. He looked 
 forward to the trip, but it seemed so far from his out- 
 of-doors, his pal and home. 
 
 They, Tad and Bob, were trudging down the trail. 
 It was the same trail which the boy had come up that 
 memorable night six weeks before. And what a differ- 
 ent boy it was this time. His cheeks had filled out, his 
 muscles were firmer, and the old Tad was gone. He 
 was well. His tanned face bore evidence of his out 
 door life, and his chin set a bit squarer, and his eyes 
 seemed a bit steadier than when he climbed up the 
 trail a few weeks before. 
 
 They passed Sailing's camp, where the inhabitants 
 turned out to give welcome to the travelers. Then on, 
 down the mountain past "Aunt Sary's" as the people 
 
 (84) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 were wont to call the old lady, and on into the little 
 hamlet that nestled at the very foot of the mountains. 
 Just before they started down the final slope, and 
 sat resting, overlooking the valley below, Bob turned 
 toward the younger boy. 
 
 "Tad, I want to give you some good advice. You're 
 going away to school. You will meet with new prob- 
 lems and you'll knock up against the world a little more. 
 Now what I had in mind was this. You will probably 
 be going out for athletics. Very likely track. You've 
 got your health back again, and I want you to go in 
 and win. And furthermore," he added, "I want you, 
 when you start a thing, to finish it. Above all, remem- 
 ber that there is even in athletics, such a thing as honor. 
 I'm going to watch you, kid, and I want you to make 
 good. Tliere's always room for good men at the uni- 
 versity, and I want you to be able to tell me when you 
 come back next spring that you kept your honor clean. 
 Don't think this is a sermon, kid, for it isn't, but I 
 know what you are up against, and I want you to make 
 good." 
 
 The two were silent for a moment. Then Tad, not 
 daring to trust his voice, extended his hand. Bob took 
 it, and knew that the "Kid" had given his promise. 
 
 They descended the rest of the trail in silence. It 
 was to be their last hike in the mountains for a whole 
 year. As they reached the foot, they stopped for a 
 moment to look back at the mountain and its blue- 
 tinted mates. Tad gave a little sigh. "I guess it's 
 
 (85) 
 
TAPS 
 
 good-bye Blue Mountains," he said. "Gee, Bob, I'll be 
 glad to get back." 
 
 "And so will I," affirmed his friend. 
 
 A few days later. Tad boarded the train for the 
 new school, and took one last look at the near-by moun- 
 tains. Nine long months, he meditated. But they were 
 to pass quickly, as he afterward found out. 
 
 Three days later he arrived, dusty and travel-weary, 
 at the little station of Mexico. There were fellows in 
 uniforms and those in citizen's clothes, but all seemed 
 to be having the time of their life. 
 
 "Going out to the old academy?" asked a merry 
 faced fellow at his side. 
 
 "Why, yes, if you will tell me how to get there." 
 
 "Well, there's two ways," replied the cadet, for 
 such he was, "either pay a quarter and ride in the bus, 
 or walk. It isn't very far, and if you aren't tired you 
 can come along with me, I'm going out there now." 
 
 "Not a bit tired, only dusty. And I'd rather walk 
 than ride any day." 
 
 "Good stuff," replied the cadet. "Most of us do 
 walk — that is vv^hen v/e're broke. By the way," he 
 asked, changing the subject, "where do 3^ou come 
 from?" 
 
 "The West," answered Tad smiling, "and Oregon 
 in particular," 
 
 "The deuce you say! Well, you don't look woolly," 
 The cadet gazed at the new boy intently. 
 
 Tad laughed. 
 
 (86) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 ''You see we aren't all so wild as we're pictured," 
 he said, "and we don't even get massacred every other 
 evening by the Indians, either. No, the West is pretty 
 vv^ell tamed now days." 
 
 The two boys turned from the main street up a 
 residence promenade. As they continued in this direc- 
 tion Tad began to catch glimpses of the old academy. 
 It's massive dome and portly pillars. 
 
 "She looks great," he commented to his companion. 
 ''She sure does," returned the cadet who had not 
 been looking at the academy at all, but had been feast- 
 ing his eyes on a strikingly pretty girl passing by on 
 the other side of the street. "Her name is Jane Park. 
 I used to go with her last year." 
 
 "I m.ean the academy," explained the Westerner, 
 
 "Oh," laughed the boy, "that's a good one on me. 
 
 The old 'school does look pretty decent this time of 
 
 year." 
 
 They entered the academy grounds. In due course 
 of time, Tad was conducted to the offices and became a 
 full fledged new boy. 
 
 The months passed quickly for the boy ; even faster 
 than he thought it possible. Spring came into bloom 
 after a cold winter. Basketball season was over and 
 track and baseball were the athletics of the hour. Tad 
 had hoped to get on the track team, and he faithfully 
 turned out every night after drill for practice in his 
 event, the 220 yard dash. The splendid vigor which 
 his weeks in the mountains had instilled in him stood 
 
 (87) 
 
TAPS 
 
 in good stead, and there was a firmness in his muscles 
 that made even the largest of the old boys about the 
 academy respect him. Tad was not a popular man, in 
 the complete meaning of the word. For one matter, no 
 new man ever is at the old academy. He must be tried 
 out a year so that his worth may be seen. Tad was far 
 too quiet to gain a large circle of friends. But the 
 friends that he did make were of a good sort, and he 
 was happy. 
 
 The coach looked at the Westerner as a boy with 
 a great future in track. His leg muscles had been well 
 developed by his summer's hiking, his lungs had a great 
 capacity, for the pure air of the mountains had 
 strengthened them and made them all the more reliable, 
 while the endurance which he had gained by the some- 
 times fatiguing trips endov/ed him with that thing called 
 grit. 
 
 So Tad remembered what his friend had told him, 
 and kept his honor clean. An honor which was soon to 
 be tested to the breaking point. 
 
 The big track event was near at hand. The boy 
 waited anxiously for the posting of the names of those 
 men who would go to the meet to defend the honor of 
 the old academy. The deciding day finally dragged 
 around, and Tad eagerly scanned the list on the bulle- 
 tin board in search of his name. Was it there? A 
 moment of breathless suspense followed. Then with a 
 smile of relief, Tad turned away from the bulletin. He 
 was to run for the old academy. 
 
 (88) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 The day of the meet came. With his muscles un- 
 der perfect Control, his legs as steady as an iron man's 
 and with that spring which denotes a good runner 
 Tad donned his track suit with the maroon and gold 
 bar across the breast. He was proud of that suit for it 
 meant that he had earned the right to help defend the 
 honor of his school. 
 
 The other events were run off. The field events 
 had taken place, and the deciding points were to be 
 won in this event. If the old academy failed to win 
 first place with a good third following, the school, his 
 school was defeated. 
 
 The coach gave him an encouraging pat as he 
 trotted to the starting line. His heart beat a trifle quicker, 
 and his knees seemed suddenly weak. Was he going to 
 fail at the last moment? Then he remembered Bob's 
 talk to him that afternoon as they sat on the point 
 overlooking that peaceful Oregon valley the summer 
 before, and that Bob had wanted him to keep his honor 
 
 dean 
 
 As if by magic, his knees grew strong, and his 
 
 heart regained its natural pulse. 
 
 ''On your marks!" He crouched; his legs felt as if 
 they v/ere steel springs. 
 
 "Get set!" A moment of breathlessness from the 
 
 grandstand. 
 
 ''Go!" The starting pistol barked out this per- 
 emptory command. They were off. Tad leading the 
 others Awav, away! The crowd roared its excitement 
 
 (89) 
 
TAPS 
 
 while the band tooted its very loudest. The decisive 
 race was being run. The old academy was to win or 
 lose. 
 
 Swift as the new boy was, a runner from the op- 
 posing team proved to be his equal. It was a race be- 
 tween them for the victory. On Tad flew, putting 
 every bit of energy he could gather into his fairly fly- 
 ing limbs. 
 
 The final spurt. His legs were tired. He felt so 
 tired. But that did not matter. Nothing mattered ex- 
 cept the school and Bob. He hurled himself forward 
 v/ith renewed energy, keeping just at the side of his 
 rival. It was nip and tuck. He could see the tape 
 just a little way ahead. Another spurt. His rival was 
 still beside him. With a last effort, he flung himself 
 against the tape, to feel it part just as he started to 
 come against it. The rival school had won. 
 
 He stretched himself on the grass, exhausted. He 
 had lost, but so close to victory. How could he face 
 the fellows and Bob. What was that? Cheering? It 
 sounded like his name. It was his name. Why should 
 they cheer him when he had lost the meet. 
 
 "Feel all right now," asked someone as he raised 
 himself on his arm. 
 
 "What are they yelling for?" the boy asked, seeing 
 objects more plainly. 
 
 "Yelling for? Why, for you, of course. Don't 
 you know that you won the meet?" 
 
 "What?" stammered Tad. 
 (90) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 "Sure thing. Almost a tie but the judges say you 
 broke the tape first." 
 
 So even the judges thought that he had won. And 
 the other man had really won. WeU, it was his hard 
 luck The judges should have kept better watch. Then 
 there flashed across his mind those words of Bobs, 
 "Even in athletics, keep your honor clean." 
 
 They stung him as much as if he had suddenly 
 been lashed by a whip. Keep his honor clean. But how 
 about the honor of the school, the old academy? Bob 
 had said nothing about that. 
 
 Was he to keep his own honor clean and that 
 would mean the losing of the meet, or would he keep 
 the athletic honor of the school clean, wm the meet, 
 but sacrifice his own honor? It required qmcK thmk- 
 ing and a quicker decision. The old academy would 
 not want a victory that had not been fairly won. He 
 was sure of it. 
 "Mr. Judge!" 
 
 "Yes, what is it?" . 
 
 "There's been a mistake made. I didn't wm that 
 event. My rival broke the tape just as I touched it^^ 
 "Do you reaUze what you are saying, young man. 
 
 "Yes sir " 
 
 "Coach, your man says that he did not rightfully 
 win that race. The other man broke the tape first 
 
 "What?" thundered the coach. ''Not wm that 
 race^ Why I saw him with my own eyes." 
 
 "He is right sir. I know you'll hate me for it, 
 (91) 
 
TAPS 
 sir, but I couldn't stand to win unfairly. I know it 
 sounds silly, but I made a promise last summer that I 
 would keep my honor clean in atheltics. I couldn't 
 break it, even now. I'm sorry, sir." 
 
 "Sorry, eh? For what, now?" 
 
 "For having to tell the truth and lose the meet." 
 Tad looked him straight in the eye. He was up against 
 a man, whom, he felt, was going to hold him up to the 
 fellows as a sissy. 
 
 The crowd had begun to scatter, and Tad walked 
 silently by the side of his coach to the dressing rooms. 
 As he started to enter the coach detained him for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Tad," he said, offering his hand, "you've got grit 
 and honor. Stick to those two things and you'll win. 
 You did the right thing, the thing that very few would 
 have dared to do. Fm proud of you, and the old 
 academy will be, too." 
 
 Tad could think of nothing to say. He merely 
 mumbled a word and passed on to the showers. He 
 had done the right thing, and now he could look Bob 
 m the eye and tell him that he had kept his honor and 
 that of the old academy's clean. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 It was summer again, and the night was falling on 
 the Blue Mountains just as it had nearly a year before. 
 A campfire glowed a burning gold. The wild things 
 called and threatened, just as they had months before. 
 There were two travelers by the fire, two healthy 
 
 (92) 
 
A LITTLE MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 
 men, who talked over the past year. It had been a 
 wonderful year, and this night, with its cool Oregon 
 breeze and pine scented fragrance seemed a fitting cli- 
 max for the year. 
 
 "Tad, old boy," the older traveler broke the silence, 
 -I'm glad you won. No, not the track meet back there 
 in June, even if there was a mistake in the scorekeep- 
 ing, and the old academy didn't lose after all. Not 
 that. Tad, but over your own self. The more one goes 
 to college the more one learns that honor is a prime 
 necessity in life. But tell me, kid, what made you de- 
 cide the way you did?" 
 
 It was fully a moment before Tad answered. A 
 serious little smile crept over his face. 
 
 '7ust a litle matter of friendship," he replied. 
 The bats circled in ghostlike silence about the fire, 
 flitting off now and then into the blue-black darkness 
 of the Oregon night. The cougars screeched and the 
 mountain wolves howled. A great awkward black bear 
 shambled into a huckleberry thicket near by. The tops 
 of the evergreens bent slightly with the night wind and 
 a screech owl hooted its solemn warning. 
 
 As the travelers stretched themselves on their fir 
 bough beds, with no roof but the starry vault, they fell 
 to sleep. And while they slept a hush stole over the 
 mountain fastnesses and the fire burned low. 
 
 (93) 
 
TAPS 
 
 When the Ughts fhcker out, and all is dark, 
 
 And the bull-frogs croak in the pond. 
 
 When the white-faced moon her radiance sheds 
 
 Over the lofty dome. , i n k 
 
 When the trees are murmuring their evenmg s lullaby, 
 
 And the hum and the whir of the insects, all 
 
 Blend in with the breath of spring. 
 
 Then comes the call through the sound-lorn air— 
 
 The call of a bugle clear. 
 
 And its soft, sweet notes swell out and on, 
 
 And it touches the hearts of those within. 
 
 For the call is "Taps"— the summons to rest. 
 
 The end of day is come. 
 
 (95) 
 
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