“That other officer there, that young one, he’s a coward, too, and he pretends he’s sick so they’ll send him away from the front. But the hero threatens to kill him unless he quits pretending he’s sick. He points a revolver right at him and says he’ll shoot him dead if he doesn’t ‘buck up.’
“I was frightened to death that he really would shoot him, the night I saw it. I don’t like that part of it at all, and it hasn’t anything to do with the rest of the play, but the play would have been too short without it. It’s awfully short as it is. It doesn’t begin till nearly nine; I mean, at night, and it’s over about half past ten; that’s half past four for a matinée.”
Will wished he had brought a box of molasses taffy.
“Here’s the real captain now, the hero. See how big he looks? And he really isn’t big at all off the stage. He’s mad at the girl’s brother being there. After a while the brother writes a letter to his sister and the captain is afraid he’ll tell her about his drinking and so forth. So he wants to read the letter and the boy doesn’t want him to, but he says he has a right to censor all mail. Finally the schoolteacher reads the letter out loud and it’s so complimentary to the captain that he’s ashamed of having made him read it.
“Isn’t the sergeant funny? I guess he’s a sergeant. It makes you laugh just to look at him. They’re all English, the whole company. I think there are other companies playing it out West or somewhere, and they’re all English, too. And it’s going to be a picture, a talking picture. Do you like talking pictures?”
“No,” said Will. “Or people.”
“After a while the colonel comes in and tells the captain that they want to find out who the Germans are in the trench facing them; that is, the number of the German regiment or something. I don’t see what difference it makes as long as they’re Germans, but Ralph says they always want to know so they can figure out the distribution of the German troops, how they’re distributed. So the captain has to send some men over to the German trenches, across No Man’s Land, and they’re supposed to capture a German prisoner and bring him back and then they’ll know what regiment is facing them.
“The captain hates to send anybody because it’s almost sure death, but he’s got to obey orders. He sends the young boy, the brother, the girl’s brother, and that schoolteacher, and the young boy gets a prisoner and the schoolteacher gets killed.
“The funny thing about it is that you kind of wish it was the boy that got killed in place of the schoolteacher. But the boy gets killed later.
“Of course they know what it means to do it and the boy is terribly nervous, but still he’s glad of a chance to do something important. He and the schoolteacher recite Alice in Wonderland before they go; not all of it; just quotations from it so as not to think of what’s before them. That’s the schoolteacher’s way of keeping his mind off danger, instead of drinking, like the captain.
“You wait till you see how the captain drinks. It must be colored water or tea or something. If it were real whisky he’d fall off the stage. It can’t even be tea or he’d get sick. Do you drink much, Will?”
“I’ve been on the wagon,” said Will, “but I think I’m going to fall off tonight; maybe this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like it.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. You used to get so silly when you drank.”
“I still do.”
“But you were kind of funny and amusing, too. And then you usually got very affectionate.”
“I’m different now. I get silly at first; not funny at all. Then I get brutal and want to fight people, whoever is with me, my best friends, even girls.”
“You don’t mean really fight them!”
“Yes, I do. The reason why I got on the wagon is because I was with a girl, a girl I cared quite a lot for; we went on a party and I had about four drinks, and for no reason at all, I socked her in the mouth and knocked her down. It’s whoever I happen to be with when I get that way.”
“Then you ought never to drink anything.”
“That’s good advice, but sometimes I just have to. And it doesn’t seem right not to enjoy myself, my first time in New York.”
“You certainly don’t call it enjoying yourself, to hit women!”
“I do, though. I get quite a kick out of it. I don’t mean I pick on women especially, but this girl just happened to be there.”
For the sake of those readers who have not seen Journey’s End and who hope to, I will not divulge any more of its content, but will merely state that there were at least two men in the audience who wished they could borrow the captain’s gun.
“Will,” said Stella as they went out, “I don’t believe we’d better have dinner together. I’m tired and you look tired yourself.”
“I’m not tired,” said Will. “Even if I was, a few shots of rye will fix me up.”
“But I’m afraid. I’m afraid Ralph might come home.”
“You said he wouldn’t be home till day after tomorrow.”
“He changes his mind sometimes. He never stays away longer than he has to.”
“That’s what he tells you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing at all. But I’m not going to urge you against your better judgment. Do exactly as you like.”
“Well, I really think you’d better send me home. It’s been grand—”
“I’ll
