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Image provided by: New York State Military History Museum
GAS ATTACK 7 THE IDEAS OF ETHELBURT JELLYBACK, PRIVATE We Had Hot Words. XII. On a Night at Converse College With th e Band Playing and Spring in the Air Dickie D arling and I alw ays play round together. It was he who suggested th a t we go to the concert of the division band at Converse College. Acquiescing in this proj ect, I w rapped my spiral leggings about me, though fearful of their propensity for falling off, and together we set out for town, Dickie and I. It was a glorious evening as we sauntered up Main street tow a rds the college. At th a t tim e I had no idea th a t I would do the un accountable thing th a t occurred later in the evening, for I come of a fam ily of great social distinction and form ality. M ayhap it was the balm iness of the air. T h e re w e re hundreds of stars in the sky, w inking no less happily than my own eyes, I dare say, as I drank in the intoxicating -breezes of the false and prem a ture Spring. You recall those days. He W arns A g ainst a Poem. “I im agine, Dickie,” I rem a rked, ‘‘th a t I will probably feel a poem come upon us to - n ig h t” “D a m n !” said Dickie, not because of my prophecy, but because he had stubbed his toe. “You m u s tn’t swear, Dickie. Didn’t you read th a t editorial in The Gas A ttack? The w riter said th a t men only use profanity be cause they lack ideas and the vocabulary with w h ich to express those few ideas. I, for one, shall never confess to a paucity of ideas. Accordingly I have draw n up a pro gram of words to be used as a substitute for sw ear words. These words are not only as expressive as the old ones, but they are m o re intim a te ly connected w ith camp life.” “W h a t a w o nderful idea, E th e lb u r t! Only you could think of it. W h a t are the new -swear w o rds?” “In place of hell, you say reveille. In place of damn, you say slumgullion. In place ■of the next phrase in the progression of ex pletives, you say Sibley Stove. And in place of a fourth and ultim a te oath, you say kitchen police!” “N o thing could be . more expressive than th a t, E thelburt. I’ll try to rem e m b e r.” Gamboling on the Green. At length reaching the college campus, Dickie and I skipped lightly off the sidewalk to the greensw a rd, shadowy and velvet un d e r the trees. W e frolicked. I exulted: “I’m a little prairie flower, Growing w ilder every hour. . Then, dropping on a bench to rest, I drew forth my pencil and flashlight. “The poem is here,” I announced. “Have you a piece of paper I can w rite it on, Dick ie, before it slips my m ind?” Dickie felt through his pockets. I waited, anxiously. The only paper Dickie could find was his pass to town, on the back of which I proposed th a t I write. Dickie objected. “W h a t if the M. P.’s ask to see my pass? W h a t will they think of it w ith your poem all over it?” “Fear not, Dickie. They wouldn’t under stand it.” “All the same, E thelburt, it’s a chance I hate to risk.” “Dickie, are you going to let my suddenly inspired poem go unim m o rtalized simply for the lack of a paltry piece of paper on which to indite it? How crude of you. You exas perate me.” E thelburt and Dickie Quarrel. W e had hot words. I even w e n t so far, in my anger, as to call him a slum g ullion little nuisance! At th a t m o m ent I realized I had forgotten the poem. Sim u ltaneously, the concert be gan. W e ran to the building. W h en we reached our seats dow n stairs in the big, brilliantly lighted auditorium , the hall was packed w ith sm a rt looking officers and well-gowned women. And upstairs, in the balcony a t the left, sat the young women students of the college, delicious in their bright dresses and Southern charm s. Ah, lackaday! ■ How I sighed. Two or three .hundred of them , and all deftly plying their knitting needles and curious, half-shy glances. The sm a rt bandm a s ter rapped his baton on the stand. The two hundred bandsm e n burst into music. It was music w ith a swing and a lilt, w ith pow er and yet exquisitely harm onized. E thelburt’s Ectasy. “There is one refreshing feature about a concert like this,” I said. “You can sit here and let the delightful music beat into your soul w ithout the necessity of fixing your gaze on the stage. You don’t have to look at the actors.” “I understand perfectly, E thelburt. You can look at the pippins in the balcony.” “Lapfuls of loveliness! But how did you know I was thinking of them ? ” “I can read your mind.” “Can you really, Dickie? Fancy that. How quaint!” The band played “Poor Butterfly,” softly, plaintively, languorously. It stirred me to such depths th a t I felt the need of my new code of profanity. “R e v e ille!” I m u ttered. Dickie felt even more strongly than I did. “The Sibley Stove!” he cried, reckless in his cussing. The interm ission arrived. Then it was that the strange unaccountable im pulse gripped me. For some tim e I had been ob serving a bew itching creature in blue chif fon and, needless to say, the left balcony. Now and then she lifted opera glasses to (Continued on page 32)
