Joy in the Morning by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews
page 7 of 204 (03%)
page 7 of 204 (03%)
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shading his eyes_.) It's horrid still. Why--they're here! Jack--you!
What makes you--lie there? You beggar--oh, my God! They're dead. Jack Arnold, and Martin and--Cram and Bennett and Emmet and--Dragamore--Oh--God, God! All the boys! Good American boys. The whole blamed bunch--dead in a ditch. Only me. Dying, in a ditch filled with dead men. What's the sense? (_Silence_.) This damned silly war. This devilish--killing. When we ought to be home, doing man's work--and play. Getting some tennis, maybe, this hot afternoon; coming in sweaty and dirty--and happy--to a tub--and dinner--with mother. (_Groans_.) It begins to hurt--oh, it hurts confoundedly. (_Becomes delirious_.) Canoeing on the river. With little Jim. See that trout jump, Jimmie? Cast now. Under the log at the edge of the trees. That's it! Good--oh! (_Groans_.) It hurts--badly. Why, how can I stand it? How can anybody? I'm badly wounded. Jimmie--tell mother. Oh--good boy--you've hooked him. Now play him; lead him away from the lily-pads. (_Groans_.) Oh, mother! Won't you come? I'm wounded. You never failed me before. I need you--if I die. You went away down--to the gate of life, to bring me inside. Now--it's the gate of death--you won't fail? You'll bring me through to that other life? You and I, mother--and I won't be scared. You're the first--and the last. (_Puts out his arm searching and folds a hand, still warm, of a dead soldier_.) Ah--mother, my dear. I knew--you'd come. Your hand is warm--comforting. You always--are there when I need you. All my life. Things are getting--hazy. (_He laughs_.) When I was a kid and came down in an elevator--I was all right, I didn't mind the drop if I might hang on to your hand. Remember? (_Pats dead soldier's hand, then clutches it again tightly_.) You come with me when I go across and let me--hang on--to your hand. And I won't be scared. (_Silence_.) This damned--damned--silly war! All the good American boys. We charged the Fritzes. How they ran! But--there was a mistake. No artillery preparation. There ought to be crosses and medals going for |
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