"
Bland grunted and opened his eyes; then he yawned, stretched his arms, and
sat up against the logs. He was bright and boyish-looking, with a frank
tanned face, which made his curling flaxen hair seem almost white.
"I worked like a darky hauling yesterday," he said reproachfully, "but when
your turn comes, you climb a woodpile and pass the job along. When we go
into battle I suppose Dandy and you will sit down to boil coffee, and hand
your muskets to the servants."
"Oh, are we ever going into battle?" growled Jack Powell from the other
side. "Here I've been at this blamed drilling until I'm stiff in every
joint, and I haven't seen so much as the tail end of a fight. You may rant
as long as you please about martial glory, but if there's any man who
thinks it's fun merely to get dirty and eat raw food, well, he's welcome to
my share of it, that's all. I haven't had so much as one of the necessities
of life since I settled down in this old field; even my hair has taken to
standing on end. I say, Beau, do you happen to have any pomade about you?
Oh, you needn't jeer, Bland, there's no danger of your getting bald, with
that sheepskin over your scalp; and, besides, I'm willing enough to
sacrifice my life for my country. I object only to giving it my hair
instead."
"I believe you'll find a little in my knapsack," gravely replied Dan, to be
assailed on the spot by a chorus of comic demands.
"I say, Beau, have you any rouge on hand? I'm growing pale.
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