Part 4 (2/2)
”Come on, Hugo! Out with it!”
Hugo's brow contracted; the lines of the mask were drawn in deliberate seriousness.
”I never hear war mentioned that I don't have a s.h.i.+ver right down my spine, as I did when I was a little boy and went into the cellar without a light,” he replied.
”Fear?” exclaimed Eugene Aronson, the farmer's son, whose big, plain face expressed dumb incomprehension. He alone was standing. Being the giant and the athlete of the company, the march had not tired him.
”Fear?” some of the others repeated. The sentiment was astounding, and Hugo was as manifestly in earnest as if he were a minister addressing a parliamentary chamber.
”Yes, don't you?” asked Hugo, in bland surprise.
”I should say not!” declared Eugene.
”Do you want to be killed?” asked Hugo, with profound interest.
”The bullet isn't made that will get me!” answered Eugene, throwing back his broad shoulders.
”I don't know,” mused Hugo, eying the giant up and down. ”You're pretty big, Gene, and a bullet that only nicked one of us in the bark might get you in the wood. However, if you are sure that you are in no danger, why, you don't count. But let's take a census while we are about it and see who wants to be killed. First, you, Armand; do you?” he asked the doctor's son, Armand Daution.
Armand grinned. The others grinned, not at him, but at the quizzical solemnity of Hugo's manner.
”If so, state whether you prefer bullets or shrapnel, early in the campaign or late, a la carte or table d'hote, morning or--” Hugo went on.
But laughter drowned the sentence, though Hugo's face was without a smile.
”You ought to go on the stage!” some one exclaimed.
”If it were as easy to amuse a pay audience as you fellows, I might,”
Hugo replied. ”But I've another question,” he pursued. ”Do you think that the fellows on the other side of the frontier want to be killed?”
”No danger! They'll give in. They always do,” said Eugene.
”I confess that it hardly seems reasonable to make war over the Bodlapoo affair!” This from the judge's son.
”Over some hot weather, some swamp, and some black policemen in Africa,”
said Hugo.
”But they hauled down our flag!” exclaimed the army officer's son.
”On their territory, they say. We were the aggressors,” Hugo interposed.
”It was _our_ flag!” said Eugene.
”But we wouldn't want them to put up their flag on our territory, would we?” Hugo asked.
”Let them try it!” thundered Eugene, with a full breath from the big bellows in his broad chest. ”Hugo, I don't like to hear you talk that way,” he added, shaking his head sadly. Such views from a friend really hurt him; indeed, he was almost lugubrious. This brought another laugh.
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