In Camp With A Tin Soldier Part 19

"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,"

said the major. "If you've had enough I'll stop of course; but tell me,"

he added, sitting down upon a cake of ice, and crossing his legs, "how on earth did you ever get hold of the ridiculous notion that I ran away frightened?"

"How?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jimmieboy. "What else was there to think? The minute the sprite was changed into Bludgeonhead I turned to speak to you, and all I could see of you was your coat-tails disappearing around the corner way down the road."

"And just because my coat-tails behaved like that you put me down as a coward?" groaned the major.

"Didn't you run away?" Jimmieboy asked.

"Of course not," replied the major. "That is, not exactly. I hurried off; but not because I was afraid. I was simply going down the road to see if I couldn't find a looking-gla.s.s so that Spriteyboy could see how he looked as a giant."

Jimmieboy laughed.

"That's a magnificent excuse," he said.

"I thought you'd think it was," said the major, with a pleased smile.

"And when I finally found that there weren't any mirrors to be had along the road I went back, and you two had gone and left me."

"And what did you do then?" asked Jimmieboy.

"I wrote a poem on sleep. It's a great thing, sleep is, and I wrote the lines off in two tenths of a fifth of a second. As I remember it, this is the way they went:

"SLEEP.

Deserted by my friends I sit, And silently I weep, Until I'm wearied so by it, I lose my little store of wit; I nod and fall asleep.

Then in my dreams my friends I spy-- Once more are they my own.

I cease to murmur and to cry, For then 'tis sure to be that I Forget I am alone.

'Tis hence I think that sleep's the best Of friends that man has got-- Not only does it bring him rest But makes him feel that he is blest With blessings he has not."

"Why didn't you go to sleep if you felt that way?" said Jimmieboy.

"I wanted to find you and I hadn't time. There was only time for me to scratch that poem off on my mind and start to find you and Bludgeyboy,"

replied the major.

"His name isn't Bludgeyboy," said Jimmieboy, with a smile. "It's Bludgeonhead."

"Oh, yes, I forgot," said the major. "It's a good name, too, Bludgeonpate is."

"How did you come to be captured by Fortyforefoot?" asked Jimmieboy, after he had decided not to try to correct the major any more as to Bludgeonhead's name.

"There you go again!" cried the major, angrily. "The idea of a miserable ogre like Fortyforefoot capturing me, the most sagacitacious soldier of modern times. I suppose you think I fell into one of his game traps?"

"That's what he said," said Jimmieboy. "He said you acted in a very curious way, too--promised him all sorts of things if he'd let you go."

"That's just like those big, bragging giants," said the major. "The idea! why he didn't capture me at all. I came here of my own free will and accord."

"What? Down here into this pantry and into the ice-chest? Oh, come now, major. You can't fool me," said Jimmieboy. "That's nonsense. Why should you want to come here?"