Part 19 (1/2)
”From Giant number one I ran-- But O the sequel dire!
I truly left a frying-pan And jumped into a fire.”
”Hullo in there,” whispered Jimmieboy. ”Who are you?”
”The bravest man of my time,” replied the voice in the ice-box. ”Major Mortimer Carraway Blueface of the 'Jimmieboy Guards.'”
”Oh, I am so glad to find you again,” cried Jimmieboy, throwing open the ice-box door. ”I thought it was you the minute I heard your poetry.”
”Ah!” said the major, with a sad smile. ”You recognized the beauty of the poem?”
”Not exactly,” said Jimmieboy. ”But you said you were in the fire when I knew you were in the ice-box, and so of course----”
”Of course,” said the major, with a frown. ”You remembered that when I say one thing I mean another. Well, I'm glad to see you again, but why did you desert me so cruelly?”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE RESCUE.
For a moment Jimmieboy could say nothing, so surprised was he at the major's question. Then he simply repeated it, his amazement very evident in the tone of his voice.
”Why did we desert you so cruelly?”
”Yes,” returned the major. ”I'd like to know. When two of my companions in arms leave me, the way you and old Spriteyboy did, I think you ought to make some explanation. It was mean and cruel.”
”But we didn't desert you,” said Jimmieboy. ”No such idea ever entered our minds. It was you who deserted us.”
”I?” roared the major fiercely.
”Certainly,” said Jimmieboy calmly. ”You. The minute Spritey turned into Bludgeonhead you ran away just about as fast as your tin legs could carry you--frightened to death evidently.”
”Jimmieboy,” said the major, his voice husky with emotion, ”any other person than yourself would have had to fight a duel with me for casting such a doubt as you have just cast upon my courage. The idea of me, of I, of myself, Major Mortimer Carraway Blueface, the hero of a hundred and eighty-seven real sham fights, the most poetic as well as the handsomest man in the 'Jimmieboy Guards' being accused of running away!
Oh! It is simply dreadful!
”I've been accused of dreadful things, Of wearing copper finger-rings, Of eating green peas with a spoon, Of wis.h.i.+ng that I owned the moon, Of telling things that weren't the truth, Of having cut no wisdom tooth, In times of war of stealing buns, And fainting at the sound of guns, Yet never dreamed I'd see the day When it was thought I'd run away.
Alack--O--well-a-day--alas!
That this should ever come to pa.s.s!
Alas--O--well-a-day--alack!
It knocks me flat upon my back.
Alas--alack--O--well-a-day!
It fills me full of sore dismay.
Aday--alas--O--lack-a-well--”
”Are you going to keep that up forever?” asked Jimmieboy. ”If you are I'm going to get out. I've heard stupid poetry in this campaign, but that's the worst yet.”
”I only wanted to show you what I could do in the way of a lamentation,”