Army Boys in France Part 23

CHAPTER XX

A RATTLING BOUT

Just then the officer of the day approached. Rabig slunk away from the window while Frank resumed his pacing, and the episode ended then and there.

At the end of three days Rabig's term expired and he was sent back again to his place in the ranks, somewhat subdued in manner though really unchastened in spirit.

His hatred of Frank was unabated and in fact seemed to have taken on extra bitterness since the sharp exchange at the guard-house. He seldom pa.s.sed Frank without a sneer on his lip or an ugly gleam in his eye, which betrayed the smoldering fires within.

Frank, on his part, bore no rancor. His nature was too open and healthy to nurse a grudge, and although he avoided speaking to Rabig, he seldom thought of him except when the exigencies of military duty threw them together.

"You're as popular as the smallpox with that gink," said Billy one day, after Rabig had pa.s.sed them with his usual malignant stare at Frank.

"You want to keep your eyes open, Frank," added Tom, who, knowing Rabig better than Billy, distrusted him profoundly. "He's got something up his sleeve."

"I don't think it would be safe to be alongside him in the trenches,"

put in Bart. "Especially on a dark night. It's an easy thing there to slip a bullet into a man you don't like, and charge it up against the Germans."

"Oh, shucks!" laughed Frank, "Rabig's pretty bad but he isn't as bad as that."

Several weeks went by, weeks of strain and hard work that were rapidly converting the new army into a first-cla.s.s fighting machine.

But "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," and the officers saw to it that there was plenty of entertainment for the men when the hard day's work was over.

There were improvised vaudeville entertainments and, as there were many actors in the ranks, including some whose names were famous, the performances were really good.

Then too, there were boxing matches, which were perhaps the most popular of all. The boys themselves took part in these and there was a good deal of rivalry, all of it good-natured, among the representatives of the various companies and regiments in camp.

The Government had been quick to recognize the value of boxing, not only as a physical exercise, but because it aided vastly in the bayonet drill.

The two contests closely resembled each other and excellence in one meant excellence in both. There was the same sparring for advantage, feinting, alternate advance and retreat, evading and covering up, attacking and defending.

And because of this, every camp had its official boxing instructor and the sport formed part of the regular drill.

Great care was taken to avoid any brutal element. The rounds were limited to two minutes each and the men were cautioned against letting go with all their weight.

It was a matter of points secured by skill, and it was closely akin to a fencing bout with b.u.t.tons on the foils to avoid any serious injury.

Frank had always had a fondness for the sport even before he joined the army. He and Bart had often put on the gloves in a friendly bout at the Camport gymnasium. He was as quick as a cat on his feet, a good judge of distance, and unerring in picking out the weak points of his opponent's offense.

Under the skillful training that he received from McGrath, who was a well-known amateur boxer and had been put in charge of the athletic sports of the camp where the boys were stationed, he had made surprising progress and was admitted to be easily the best soldier with the gloves in his own special battalion.

One night a boxing programme had been staged for Frank's regiment and a series of interesting bouts was looked for.

"Are you going on to-night, Frank?" asked Bart.

"Yes," Frank replied. "And I feel in dandy shape. I never felt more full of pep than I do just now."

"Who's McGrath going to put against you?" asked Tom.

"I'm slated to meet Thompson, of company F," replied Frank.

"And he's a crackajack, too," put in Billy. "He cleaned up the champs of all the other companies when the old Thirty-seventh was down on the Mexican border. You've got your work cut out for you, Frank."

And Billy's prediction was verified, for on that night Frank found that Thompson was an opponent to be reckoned with. It was a slas.h.i.+ng, four-round bout with the scales hanging even most of the time, but in the closing round Frank had a shade the better of it and was announced the victor.

Amid tumultuous handclapping of company B, whose champion he was, Frank waved his hand smilingly and was about to go off the platform when Corporal Wilson, who was acting as master of ceremonies, stopped him with a gesture.

"Pretty well winded, Sheldon?" he asked.

"Not a bit," laughed Frank. "I'm as fresh as a daisy. Like John Paul Jones, I've just begun to fight."

"That's good," smiled Wilson, "because I'm short a match. One of the pair who were to come on after you and Thompson is rather under the weather and the doctor won't let him take part, though he's game as a fighting c.o.c.k and wants to go on anyway. If you felt in shape for it I thought perhaps you might help out by taking on some other fellow for a few minutes so that the boys won't be disappointed."

"Sure thing," said Frank. "Bring him along."

"I haven't got anyone picked out, just this minute," said the corporal a little perplexedly.

"Send out a call for volunteers," Frank suggested. "It will make it all the more interesting."

"That's the idea," said the corporal. "Any of you fellows want to put on the gloves with Sheldon?" he called out.

There was a momentary hush and then a figure rose from the throng and Nick Rabig pushed his way through to the platform.

CHAPTER XXI

PAYING A DEBT

Frank gave a start of surprise as he saw who his opponent was to be, and Bart, who was acting as Frank's second, leaned over him with a word of warning.

"Keep your eye peeled, Frank," he advised. "You know what Rabig is and the way he feels toward you. This is just a scheme of his to get even.

He isn't coming up here for a friendly bout. He wants to show you up and knock you out if he can."

"Oh, I don't know," said Frank, unconcernedly. "But if he tries on anything like that I'll give him all he's looking for."

Rabig's second, Werner, one of the few friends he had in the regiment and who like himself was suspected of pro-German leanings, or at least lukewarmness in the service, took a long time in putting on his princ.i.p.al's gloves, and Bart, who was watching him with the eye of a hawk, stepped across the platform to witness the operation.

"Let me look at those gloves," he demanded.

"What's the matter with them?" growled Werner.

"This is the matter with them," said Bart, as he pointed to the part just above where the knuckles came and where the stuffing of the glove had been kneaded aside so that a blow given would be almost like one with the bare fist.