In October Anthony’s letters multiplied, became
almost frantic—then suddenly ceased.
For a worried month it needed all her powers of control
to refrain from leaving immediately for Mississippi.
Then a telegram told her that he had been in the hospital
and that she could expect him in New York within ten
days. Like a figure in a dream he came back into
her life across the ballroom on that November evening—and
all through long hours that held familiar gladness
she took him close to her breast, nursing an illusion
of happiness and security she had not thought that
she would know again.
DISCOMFITURE OF THE GENERALS
After a week Anthony’s regiment went back to
the Mississippi camp to be discharged. The officers
shut themselves up in the compartments on the Pullman
cars and drank the whiskey they had bought in New York,
and in the coaches the soldiers got as drunk as possible
also—and pretended whenever the train stopped
at a village that they were just returned from France,
where they had practically put an end to the German
army. As they all wore overseas caps and claimed
that they had not had time to have their gold service
stripes sewed on, the yokelry of the seaboard were
much impressed and asked them how they liked the trenches—to
which they replied “Oh, boy!” with
great smacking of tongues and shaking of heads.
Some one took a piece of chalk and scrawled on the
side of the train, “We won the war—now
we’re going home,” and the officers laughed
and let it stay. They were all getting what swagger
they could out of this ignominious return.
As they rumbled on toward camp, Anthony was uneasy
lest he should find Dot awaiting him patiently at
the station. To his relief he neither saw nor
heard anything of her and thinking that were she still
in town she would certainly attempt to communicate
with him, he concluded that she had gone—whither
he neither knew nor cared. He wanted only to return
to Gloria—Gloria reborn and wonderfully
alive. When eventually he was discharged he left
his company on the rear of a great truck with a crowd
who had given tolerant, almost sentimental, cheers
for their officers, especially for Captain Dunning.
The captain, on his part, had addressed them with
tears in his eyes as to the pleasure, etc., and
the work, etc., and time not wasted, etc.,
and duty, etc. It was very dull and human;
having given ear to it Anthony, whose mind was freshened
by his week in New York, renewed his deep loathing
for the military profession and all it connoted.
In their childish hearts two out of every three professional
officers considered that wars were made for armies
and not armies for wars. He rejoiced to see general
and field-officers riding desolately about the barren
camp deprived of their commands. He rejoiced
to hear the men in his company laugh scornfully at
the inducements tendered them to remain in the army.
They were to attend “schools.” He
knew what these “schools” were.
