Chapter 15

The regiment was standing at order arms at the side of a lane, waiting for the command to march, when suddenly the youth remembered the little packet enwrapped in a faded yellow envelope which the loud young soldier with lugubrious words had intrusted to him. It made him start. He uttered an exclamation and turned toward his comrade.

The regiment stood beside a lane, their rifles at their sides, waiting for the order to march. Suddenly, the youth remembered the small packet wrapped in a faded yellow envelope. The loud young soldier had entrusted it to him with gloomy words. The memory startled him. He cried out and turned toward his comrade.

“Wilson!”

“Wilson!”

“What?”

“What?”

His friend, at his side in the ranks, was thoughtfully staring down the road. From some cause his expression was at that moment very meek. The youth, regarding him with sidelong glances, felt impelled to change his purpose. “Oh, nothing,” he said.

His friend stood beside him in the ranks, staring thoughtfully down the road. For some reason, his expression was very meek at that moment. The youth glanced at him from the side and felt compelled to change his mind. “Oh, nothing,” he said.

His friend turned his head in some surprise, “Why, what was yeh goin’ t’ say?”

His friend turned his head, somewhat surprised. “Why, what were you going to say?”

“Oh, nothing,” repeated the youth.

“Oh, nothing,” the young man repeated.

He resolved not to deal the little blow. It was sufficient that the fact made him glad. It was not necessary to knock his friend on the head with the misguided packet.

He decided not to deliver the little blow. It was enough that the fact made him happy. He did not need to hit his friend over the head with the misdirected packet.

He had been possessed of much fear of his friend, for he saw how easily questionings could make holes in his feelings. Lately, he had assured himself that the altered comrade would not tantalize him with a persistent curiosity, but he felt certain that during the first period of leisure his friend would ask him to relate his adventures of the previous day.

He had been very afraid of his friend because he saw how easily questions could undermine his feelings. Lately, he had assured himself that his changed friend would not torment him with persistent curiosity. But he felt certain that, at their first free moment, his friend would ask him about his adventures the day before.

He now rejoiced in the possession of a small weapon with which he could prostrate his comrade at the first signs of a cross-examination. He was master. It would now be he who could laugh and shoot the shafts of derision.

He was now glad to have a small weapon he could use to silence his comrade at the first sign of questioning. He was in control. Now he could be the one to laugh and mock.

The friend had, in a weak hour, spoken with sobs of his own death. He had delivered a melancholy oration previous to his funeral, and had doubtless in the packet of letters, presented various keepsakes to relatives. But he had not died, and thus he had delivered himself into the hands of the youth.

In a moment of weakness, the friend had sobbed as he spoke of his own death. He had given a mournful speech before his funeral. In the packet of letters, he had no doubt left various keepsakes to his relatives. But he had not died, and so he had put himself at the youth’s mercy.

The latter felt immensely superior to his friend, but he inclined to condescension. He adopted toward him an air of patronizing good humor.

The latter felt far superior to his friend, but he was inclined to look down on him. He treated his friend with patronizing good humor.

His self-pride was now entirely restored. In the shade of its flourishing growth he stood with braced and self-confident legs, and since nothing could now be discovered he did not shrink from an encounter with the eyes of judges, and allowed no thoughts of his own to keep him from an attitude of manfulness. He had performed his mistakes in the dark, so he was still a man.

His pride in himself was now completely restored. In the shade of its flourishing growth, he stood firm and confident. Since nothing could now be discovered, he did not shrink from meeting the eyes of those who judged him. He let none of his own thoughts keep him from acting like a man. He had made his mistakes in the dark, so he was still a man.

Indeed, when he remembered his fortunes of yesterday, and looked at them from a distance he began to see something fine there. He had license to be pompous and veteranlike.

Indeed, when he remembered what had happened to him yesterday and looked back on it from a distance, he began to see something admirable in it. He had the right to be pompous and act like a veteran.

His panting agonies of the past he put out of his sight.

He put his past gasping agonies out of mind.

In the present, he declared to himself that it was only the doomed and the damned who roared with sincerity at circumstance. Few but they ever did it. A man with a full stomach and the respect of his fellows had no business to scold about anything that he might think to be wrong in the ways of the universe, or even with the ways of society. Let the unfortunates rail; the others may play marbles.

Now he told himself that only the doomed and the damned sincerely raged against their circumstances. Few others ever did. A man with a full stomach and the respect of his peers had no business complaining. He should not complain about anything he thought wrong with the universe, or even with society. Let the unfortunate rage. The others may play marbles.

He did not give a great deal of thought to these battles that lay directly before him. It was not essential that he should plan his ways in regard to them. He had been taught that many obligations of a life were easily avoided. The lessons of yesterday had been that retribution was a laggard and blind. With these facts before him he did not deem it necessary that he should become feverish over the possibilities of the ensuing twenty-four hours. He could leave much to chance. Besides, a faith in himself had secretly blossomed. There was a little flower of confidence growing within him. He was now a man of experience. He had been out among the dragons, he said, and he assured himself that they were not so hideous as he had imagined them. Also, they were inaccurate; they did not sting with precision. A stout heart often defied, and defying, escaped.

He did not think much about the battles directly ahead. He saw no need to plan how he would face them. He had learned that many of life's obligations were easy to avoid. The day before had taught him that punishment was slow and blind. Knowing this, he saw no need to get worked up about what might happen in the next twenty-four hours. He could leave much to chance. Besides, faith in himself had secretly blossomed. A little flower of confidence was growing within him. He was now a man of experience. He told himself he had been out among the dragons, and they were not as hideous as he had imagined. They were inaccurate, too. They did not sting with precision. A brave heart often defied them and, by defying them, escaped.

And, furthermore, how could they kill him who was the chosen of gods and doomed to greatness?

Besides, how could they kill him? The gods had chosen him, and he was destined for greatness.

He remembered how some of the men had run from the battle. As he recalled their terror-struck faces he felt a scorn for them. They had surely been more fleet and more wild than was absolutely necessary. They were weak mortals. As for himself, he had fled with discretion and dignity.

He remembered how some of the men had run from the battle. He felt contempt as he recalled their terrified faces. They had surely run faster and more wildly than was necessary. They were weak people. As for himself, he had fled with good judgment and dignity.

He was aroused from this reverie by his friend, who, having hitched about nervously and blinked at the trees for a time, suddenly coughed in an introductory way, and spoke.

His friend stirred nervously and blinked at the trees for a while. Then he suddenly coughed, as if to announce he was about to speak. The sound brought him out of his daydream, and his friend spoke.

“Fleming!”

“Fleming!”

“What?”

“What?”

The friend put his hand up to his mouth and coughed again. He fidgeted in his jacket.

The friend raised his hand to his mouth and coughed again. He fidgeted in his jacket.

“Well,” he gulped at last, “I guess yeh might as well give me back them letters.” Dark, prickling blood had flushed into his cheeks and brow.

“Well,” he said at last, swallowing hard, “I guess you might as well give me back those letters.” A dark, prickling flush spread across his cheeks and forehead.

“All right, Wilson,” said the youth. He loosened two buttons of his coat, thrust in his hand, and brought forth the packet. As he extended it to his friend the latter’s face was turned from him.

“All right, Wilson,” said the young man. He unbuttoned two buttons on his coat, reached inside, and pulled out the packet. As he held it out to his friend, Wilson turned his face away.

He had been slow in the act of producing the packet because during it he had been trying to invent a remarkable comment on the affair. He could conjure up nothing of sufficient point. He was compelled to allow his friend to escape unmolested with his packet. And for this he took unto himself considerable credit. It was a generous thing.

He was slow to produce the packet because he was trying to think of a remarkable comment about the affair. He could think of nothing pointed enough. He had to let his friend get away with his packet without a word. And he gave himself considerable credit for letting him go. It was a generous thing to do.

His friend at his side seemed suffering great shame. As he contemplated him, the youth felt his heart grow more strong and stout. He had never been compelled to blush in such manner for his acts; he was an individual of extraordinary virtues.

His friend beside him seemed deeply ashamed. As the youth watched him, he felt his heart grow stronger and braver. He had never had to feel such shame for his own actions. He was a person of extraordinary virtues.

He reflected, with condescending pity: “Too bad! Too bad! The poor devil, it makes him feel tough!”

He thought with patronizing pity: “Too bad! Too bad! The poor guy, it makes him feel awful!”

After this incident, and as he reviewed the battle pictures he had seen, he felt quite competent to return home and make the hearts of the people glow with stories of war. He could see himself in a room of warm tints telling tales to listeners. He could exhibit laurels. They were insignificant; still, in a district where laurels were infrequent, they might shine.

After this incident, he thought back over the scenes of battle he had witnessed. He felt ready to return home and stir people’s hearts with stories of war. He could picture himself in a warmly colored room, telling stories to an audience. He could show off his honors. They were minor, but in a place where such honors were rare, they might shine.

He saw his gaping audience picturing him as the central figure in blazing scenes. And he imagined the consternation and the ejaculations of his mother and the young lady at the seminary as they drank his recitals. Their vague feminine formula for beloved ones doing brave deeds on the field of battle without risk of life would be destroyed.

He saw his open-mouthed audience imagining him at the center of blazing scenes. He imagined his mother and the young woman at the seminary listening eagerly to his stories, exclaiming in dismay. Their vague, feminine notion that loved ones could perform brave deeds in battle without risking their lives would be shattered.