The asparagus duly arrived and was
placed on the table by Bittleson himself with something of a flourish.
"What the sam hill do you know about that!" said the disappointed
Captain as all gazed at the plate full of white asparagus butts,--as
hard as tent pegs. The tender edible portions had been thrown away.
The Colonel turned to Bittleson but the latter was too quick for him
and had already made a strategic retreat.
"What a mess-president?" said the Captain, "Eh, what, Doc.?"
"Go to blazes," growled the Colonel, "You can't get results without
tools; pass the coffee pot." And they relapsed into silence for a few
moments as they severally speculated on the number of Bittlesons they
knew of in the army--in all ranks.
"Well, I wonder how long this blinking war is going to last," queried
the Colonel. "No signs of light on the horizon yet; Fritzy is some
sticker."
"I am fed up with the whole thing," returned the Captain snapping his
cigarette butt viciously into a corner. "What are we out here for
anyway; what are we fighting for; what is the whole bally business
about; that is what I would like to know?"
"What did you come out for?" asked the Colonel. "You had a good
position and a good future in your profession over in the States;
something made you come; what was it?"
"I don't know what it was; chiefly a desire to be in the game and not
be a quitter I guess; I hate the idea of my kids, if I ever have any,
asking me what I had done in the great war.
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