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diff --git a/old/50735-0.txt b/old/50735-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dd43874..0000000 --- a/old/50735-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1441 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Too Fat to Fight, by Rex Beach - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Too Fat to Fight - -Author: Rex Beach - -Illustrator: T. D. Skidmore - -Release Date: December 21, 2015 [EBook #50735] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOO FAT TO FIGHT *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - TOO FAT TO FIGHT - - [Illustration] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BOOKS BY - - REX BEACH - - - THE WINDS OF CHANCE - LAUGHING BILL HYDE - RAINBOW’S END - THE CRIMSON GARDENIA AND OTHER - TALES OF ADVENTURE - HEART OF THE SUNSET - THE AUCTION BLOCK - THE IRON TRAIL - THE NET - THE NE’ER-DO-WELL - THE SPOILERS - THE BARRIER - THE SILVER HORDE - GOING SOME - - ------- - - HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK - [ESTABLISHED 1817] - - - - -[Illustration: “PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY”] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TOO FAT - TO FIGHT - - _By_ - REX BEACH - - _Author of_ - “THE WINDS OF CHANCE” ETC. - - _with Illustrations by_ - T. D. SKIDMORE - - [Illustration] - - Harper & Brothers Publishers - New York and London - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TOO FAT TO FIGHT - - Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers - Printed in the United States of America - Published January, 1919 - - A-T - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. “PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY” 11 - - II. DIMPLES TRIES THE Y. M. C. A. 22 - - III. “ONE MAN TO EVERY TEN!” 39 - - IV. HILL TWO EIGHTY-FIVE 43 - - V. DIMPLES TAKES PART IN A CEREMONY 47 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY” _Frontispiece_ - - OCCASIONALLY HE ORDERED HIS FAVORITE DISH, - CORN-STARCH PUDDING _Facing p._ 24 - - HE HAD GAINED A POUND! “ 28 - - A ROTUND, MIRTH-PROVOKING SPECTACLE IN HIS - BULGING UNIFORM, WITH HIS TINY OVERSEAS - CAP SET ABOVE HIS ROUND, RED FACE LIKE - THE CALYX OF A HUGE RIPE BERRY “ 42 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TOO FAT TO FIGHT - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TOO FAT TO FIGHT - - - CHAPTER I - - “_Plattsburg. One Way._” - - -“Plattsburg. One way,” Norman Dalrymple told the ticket-agent. He named -his destination more loudly, more proudly than necessary, and he was -gratified when the man next in line eyed him with sudden interest. - -Having pocketed his ticket, Dalrymple noted, by his smart new -wrist-watch with the luminous dial, that there was still twenty minutes -before train-time. Twenty minutes—and Shipp had a vicious habit of -catching trains by their coat-tails—a habit doubly nerve-racking to one -of Dalrymple’s ponderous weight and deliberate disposition. That -afforded ample leeway for a farewell rickey at the Belmont or the -Manhattan; it was altogether too long a time to stand around. Mr. -Dalrymple—his friends called him “Dimples”—had long since concluded that -standing was an unnatural posture for human beings, and with every pound -he took on there came a keener appreciation of chairs, benches, couches, -divans—anything and everything of that restful pattern except hammocks. -Hammocks he distrusted and despised, for they had a way of breaking with -the sound of gun-shots and causing him much discomfiture. - -Next to standing, Dimples abhorred walking, for the truth is he shook -when he walked. Therefore he chose the Belmont, that haven of rest being -close at hand; but ere he had gained the street his eye was challenged -by a sight that never failed to arrest his attention. It was the open -door of an eating-place—the station restaurant—with idle waiters and -spotless napery within. Now, drink was a friend, but food was an -intimate companion of whom Dimples never tired. Why people drank in -order to be convivial or to pass an idle quarter of an hour, the while -there were sweets and pastries as easily accessible, had always been a -mystery to him. Like a homing pigeon, he made for this place of -refreshment. - -Overflowing heavily into a chair, he wiped his full-moon face and -ordered a corn-starch pudding, an insatiable fondness for which was his -consuming vice. - -As usual, Shipp made the train with a three-second factor of safety in -his favor, and, recognizing the imposing bulk of his traveling -companion, greeted him with a hearty: - -“Hello, Dimples! I knew you’d come.” - -When they had settled themselves in their compartment Dalrymple panted, -breathlessly: - -“Gee! How I hate people who paw at departing trains.” - -“I made it, didn’t I? You’re getting fat and slow—that’s what ails you. -A fine figure of an athlete you are! Why, you’re laying on blubber by -the day! You’re swelled up like a dead horse.” - -“I know,” Dimples nodded mournfully. “I’ve tried to reduce, but I know -too many nice people, and they all have good _chefs_.” - -“Boozing some, too, I suppose?” - -“Oh, sure! And I love candy.” - -“They’ll take you down at Plattsburg. Say! It’s great, isn’t it? War! -The real thing!” Shipp’s eyes were sparkling. “Of course it came hard to -give up the wife and the baby, but—somebody has to go.” - -“Right! And we’re the ones, because we can afford it. I never knew how -good it is to be rich and idle—did you? But think of the poor devils who -want to go and can’t—dependents, and all that. It’s tough on them.” - -The other agreed silently; then, with a smile, he said: - -“If they’re looking for officer material at Plattsburg, as they say they -are, why, you’ve got enough for about three. They’ll probably cube your -contents and start you off as a colonel.” - -Dimples’s round, good-natured face had become serious; there was a -suggestion of strength, determination, to the set of his jaw when he -spoke. - -“Thank God, we’re in at last! I’ve been boiling ever since the Huns took -Belgium. I don’t care much for children, because most of them laugh at -me, but—I can’t stand to see them butchered.” - -Plattsburg was a revelation to the two men. They were amazed by the -grim, business-like character of the place; it looked thoroughly -military and efficient, despite the flood of young fellows in civilian -clothes arriving by every train; it aroused their pride to note how many -of their friends and acquaintances were among the number. But, for that -matter, the best blood of the nation had responded. Deeply impressed, -genuinely thrilled, Shipp and Dalrymple made ready for their physical -examinations. - -Dimples was conscious of a jealous twinge at the sight of his former -team-mate’s massive bare shoulders and slim waist; Shipp looked as fit -to-day as when he had made the All-American. As for himself, Dimples had -never noticed how much he resembled a gigantic Georgia watermelon. It -was indeed time he put an end to easy living. Well, army diet, army -exercise would bring him back, for he well knew that there were muscles -buried deep beneath his fat. - -“Step lively!” It was an overworked medical examiner speaking, and -Dimples moved forward; the line behind him closed up. As he stepped upon -the scales the beam flew up; so did the head of the man who manipulated -the counter-balance. - -“Hey! One at a time!” the latter cried. Then with a grin he inquired, -“Who’s with you?” He pretended to look back of Dimples as if in search -of a companion, after which he added another weight and finally -announced, in some awe: - -“Two eighty-five—unless I’m seeing double.” - -“‘_Two eighty-five!_’” The chief examiner started, then to Dalrymple he -said: “Step aside, sir. Fall out.” - -“What’s the idea?” Dimples inquired, with a rose-pink flush of -embarrassment. - -“You’re overweight. Next!” - -“Why, sure I’m overweight; but what’s the difference?” - -“All the difference in the world, sir. We can’t pass you. Please don’t -argue. We have more work than we can attend to.” - -Shipp turned back to explain. - -“This is Norman Dalrymple, one of the best tackles we ever had at -Harvard. He’s as sound as a dollar and stronger than a bridge. He’ll -come down—” - -“I’m sorry; but there’s nothing we can do. Regulations, you know.” - -“Sure!” The man at the scales was speaking. “Two eighty-five isn’t a -weight; it’s a telephone number.” - -Dalrymple inquired, blankly: - -“Do you mean to say I can’t get in? Why, that’s too absurd! I _must_ get -in! Can’t you fix it somehow?” - -“You’re holding up the others. Won’t you please step aside?” - -Shipp drew the giant out of line and said, quietly: - -“Don’t argue. Get into your duds and wait for me. It will be all right. -We know everybody; we’ll square it.” - -But it was not all right. Nor could it be made all right. Weary hours of -endeavor failed in any way to square matters, and the two friends were -finally forced to acknowledge that here was an instance where wealth, -influence, the magic of a famous name, went for naught. They were told -politely but firmly that Norman Dalrymple, in his present state of -unpreparedness, could not take the officers’ intensive-training course. -Dimples was mortified, humiliated; Shipp felt the disappointment quite -as keenly. - -“That’s the toughest luck I ever heard of,” the latter acknowledged. -“You’ll have to reduce, that’s all.” - -But Dimples was in despair. - -“It’s healthy fat; it will take longer to run it off than to run the -Germans out of France. The war will be over before I can do it. I want -to get in _now_. Too fat to fight! Good Lord!” he groaned. “Why, I told -everybody I was going in, and I cut all my ties. Now to be _rejected!_” -After a time he continued: “It knocks a fellow out to reduce so much. If -I managed to sweat it off in a hurry, I’d never be able to pass my -physical. That sort of thing takes _months_.” - -Shipp silently agreed that there was some truth in this statement. - -“Tough? It’s a disgrace. I—I have _some_ pride. I feel the way I did -when I lost our big game. You remember I fumbled and let Yale through -for the winning goal. I went back to the dressing-room, rolled up in a -blanket, and cried like a baby. You and the other fellows were mighty -decent; you told me to forget it. But I couldn’t. I’ve never forgotten -it, and I never shall.” - -“Pshaw! You made good later.” - -“I fell down when it was my ball. It’s my ball now, Shipp, and I’ve -fallen down again. I’ve led a pretty easy, useless life, these late -years, but—I feel this thing in Europe more than I thought I could feel -anything. I’ve contributed here and there, let my man go, and economized -generally. I’ve adopted whole litters of French orphans, and equipped -ambulance units, and done all the usual things the nice people are -doing, but I was out of the game, and I wanted—Lord! how I wanted to be -in it! When we declared war, I yelled! I went crazy. And then along came -your wire to join you in this Plattsburg course. Good old Shipp! I knew -you’d get on the job, and it raised a lump in my throat to realize that -you were sure of me. I—was never so happy”—the speaker choked -briefly—“as while waiting for the day to arrive. Now I’ve fumbled the -pass. I’m on the sidelines.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER II - - _Dimples Tries the Y. M. C. A._ - - -Norman Dalrymple did not return home, nor did he notify his family of -his rejection. Instead, he went back to New York, took a room at the -quietest of his numerous clubs, engaged a trainer, and went on a diet. -He minded neither of the latter very greatly for the first few days, but -in time he learned to abhor both. - -He shunned his friends; he avoided the club café as he would have -avoided a dragon’s cave. The sight of a push-button became a temptation -and a trial. Every morning he wrapped himself up like a sore thumb and -ambled round the Park reservoir with his pores streaming; every -afternoon he chased his elusive trainer round a gymnasium, striving to -pin the man’s hateful features, and never quite succeeding. Evenings he -spent in a Turkish bath, striving to attain the boiling-point and -failing by the fraction of a degree. He acquired a terrifying thirst—a -monstrous, maniac thirst which gallons of water would not quench. - -Ten days of this and he had lost three pounds. He had dwindled away to a -mere two hundred and eighty-two, and was faintly cheered. - -But he possessed a sweet tooth—a double row of them—and he dreamed of -things fattening to eat. One dream in particular tried the strongest -fiber of his being. It was of wallowing through a No Man’s Land of -blanc-mange with shell-craters filled with cream. Frozen -desserts—ice-cold custards! He trembled weakly when he thought of them, -which was almost constantly. Occasionally, when the craving became -utterly unbearable, he skulked guiltily into a restaurant and ordered -his favorite dish, corn-starch pudding. - -[Illustration: OCCASIONALLY HE ORDERED HIS FAVORITE DISH, CORN-STARCH -PUDDING] - -At the end of three weeks he was bleached; his face was drawn and -miserable; he looked forth from eyes like those of a Saint Bernard. He -had gained a pound! - -[Illustration: HE HAD GAINED A POUND!] - -Human nature could stand no more. Listlessly he wandered into the club -café and there came under the notice of a friend. It was no more -possible for Dimples to enter a room unobserved than for the _Leviathan_ -to slip unobtrusively into port. The friend stared in amazement, then -exclaimed: - -“Why, Norm! You look sick.” - -“‘Sick?’” the big fellow echoed. “I’m not sick; I’m dying.” And, since -it was good to share his burden, he related what had happened to him. -“Turned me down; wouldn’t give me a chance,” he concluded. “When I -strained the scales, they wanted to know who I had in my lap. I’ve been -banting lately, but I gain weight at it. It agrees with me. Meanwhile, -Shipp and the others are in uniform.” Dimples bowed his head in his -huge, plump hands. “Think of it! Why, I’d give a leg to be in olive drab -and wear metal letters on my collar! ‘Sick?’ Good Lord!” - -“I know,” the friend nodded. “I’m too old to go across, but I’m off for -Washington Monday. A dollar a year. I’ve been drawing fifty thousand, by -the way.” - -“I’m out of that, too,” Dimples sighed. “Don’t know enough—never did -anything useful. But I could fight, if they’d let me.” He raised his -broad face and his eyes were glowing. “I’m fat, but I could fight. I -could keep the fellows on their toes and make ’em hit the line. If—if -they built ships bigger, I’d stowaway.” - -“See here—” The speaker had a sudden thought. “Why don’t you try the Y?” - -“‘The Y?’ Yale?” - -“No, no. The Y. M. C. A.” - -“Oh, _that_! I’ve hired a whole gymnasium of my own where I can swear -out loud.” - -“The Y. M. C. A. is sending men overseas.” - -“I’m not cut out for a chaplain.” - -“They’re sending them over to cheer up the boys, to keep them amused and -entertained, to run huts—” - -Dalrymple straightened himself slowly. - -“I know; but I thought they were all pulpit-pounders.” - -“Nothing of the sort! They’re regular fellows, like us. They manage -canteens and sell the things our boys can’t get. They don’t let them -grow homesick; they make them play games and take care of themselves and -realize that they’re not forgotten. Some of them get right up front and -carry hot soup and smokes into the trenches.” - -“Me for that!” Dimples was rising majestically. “I could carry soup—more -soup than any man living. The trenches might be a little snug for me -round the waist, but I’d be careful not to bulge them. Cheer up the -boys! Make ’em laugh! Say—that would help, wouldn’t it?” He hesitated; -then, a bit wistfully, he inquired, “The Y fellows wear—uniforms, too, -don’t they?” - -“Well, rather. You can hardly tell them from the army.” - -In Dalrymple’s voice, when he spoke, there was an earnestness, a depth -of feeling, that his hearer had never suspected. - -“Uniforms mean a lot to me lately. Every time I see a doughboy I want to -stand at attention and throw out my chest and draw in my stomach—as far -as I can. There’s something sacred about that olive drab. It’s like your -mother’s wedding-dress, only holier, and decenter, if possible. Somehow, -it seems to stand for everything clean and honorable and unselfish. The -other day I saw the old Forty-first marching down to entrain, and I -yelled and cried and kissed an old lady. Those swinging arms, those -rifles aslant, those leggings flashing, and that sea of khaki rising, -falling—Gee! There’s something about it. These are great times for the -fellows who aren’t too old or too fat to fight.” - -“Those Y men fight, in their way, just as hard as the other boys, and -they don’t get half as much sleep or half as much attention. Nobody -makes a fuss over them.” - -Dimples waited to hear no more. The Y. M. C. A.! He had not realized the -sort of work it was doing. But to keep the boys fit to fight! That was -almost as good as being one of them. And he could do it—better than -anybody. As his taxicab sped across town he leaned back with a sigh of -contentment; for the first time in days he smiled. The Y. M. C. A. would -have no scales! To the boys at the front a fat man might be funnier even -than a skinny one. He was mighty glad he had heard of the Y in time. And -it would be glad he had, for his name was worth a lot to any -organization. No more dry bread and spinach—_Gott strafe_ spinach! How -he hated it! No more exercise, either; he would break training instantly -and tell that high-priced reducer what he really thought of him. Useful -work, work to win the war, was one thing, but this loathsome process of -trying out abdominal lard—ugh! He decided to dine like a self-respecting -white man that very night, and to deny himself nothing. The club _chef_ -made a most wonderful corn-starch pudding, indescribably delicious and -frightfully fattening. At the mere thought, an eager, predatory look -came into Dimples’s eyes. He would go overseas without delay; he would -be in France doing his bit while Shipp and the others were still -rehearsing their little tricks and learning to shout, “Forward, ouch!” -Of course those fellows would win commissions—they were welcome to the -glory—but meanwhile he would be right down in the dirt and the slime -with the boys in leggings, cheering them up, calling them “Bill” and -“Joe,” sharing their big and their little troubles, and putting the pep -into them. That’s what they needed, that’s what the world needed—pep! It -would win the war. - -Dalrymple was surprised when he entered the Y. M. C. A. quarters to find -them busy and crowded. He sent in his card, then seated himself at the -end of a line of waiting men. He wondered if, by any chance, they could -be applicants like himself, and his complacency vanished when he learned -that they could be—that, indeed, they were. His surprise deepened when -he saw that in no wise did they resemble psalm-shouters and -Testament-worms such as he had expected, but that, on the contrary, they -looked like ordinary, capable business and professional men. - -Dimples wondered if this were, after all, a competitive service. He -broke into a gentle, apprehensive perspiration. - -His name was called finally; he rose and followed a boy into a room -where several men were seated at a table. Two of them were elderly, -typical; they wore various unbecoming arrangements of white whiskers, -and one glance told Dimples that they knew a lot about God. One of the -others resembled a judge, and he it was who spoke first. - -“You wish to go to France for the Y. M. C. A.?” the latter inquired. - -“Yes, sir. They wouldn’t let me in at Plattsburg. I’m too fat, or the -camp is too small. I’d very much like to go overseas.” - -“It is hardly necessary to ask if you have had experience in promoting -social entertainments and recreations.” - -The speaker smiled. Dimples’s face broke into an answering grin. - -“‘Entertainments!’ ‘Recreations!’ They are my stock in trade. I’m an -authority on all kinds of both; that’s what ails me.” - -Another member of the board inquired: - -“Are you a temperate man, Mr. Dalrymple?” - -“Oh no!” Dimples shook his head. “Not at all.” - -“What sort of—er—beverages do you drink?” - -“What have you got?” the young giant blithely asked. Noting that his -comedy met with no mirthful response, he explained more seriously: “Why, -I drink practically everything. I have no particular favorites. I dare -say it’s against your rules, so I’ll taper off if you say so. I’d take -the Keeley to get across. Of course I make friends easier when I’m -moderately lit—anybody does. I’m extraordinarily cheerful when I’m that -way. You’ve no idea how—” - -“Surely you understand that we tolerate no drinking whatever?” - -“No, sir; I didn’t fully understand. I know several Christian young men -who drink—more or less. However, that’s all right with me. I’ve never -tried to quit drinking, so I’m sure I can.” - -“Are you familiar with the character and the aims of the Young Men’s -Christian Association?” One of the white-bearded gentlemen put this -question. - -“In a general way only. I knew you had a gym and a swimming-tank and ran -some sort of a Sunday-school. It never appealed to me, personally, until -I heard about this work you’re doing in France. That’s my size. That -fits me like a pair of tights.” - -“Do you play cards?” - -“Certainly. I’m lucky, too. Any game the boys want, from bridge to black -jack.” - -“I mean—do you play for money?” - -“Is that on the black list, too?” Dimples’s enthusiasm was slowly oozing -away. Noting the falling temperature of the room, he confessed honestly, -but with some reluctance: “I suppose I do all of the things that -ordinary idle fellows do. I drink and gamble and swear and smoke and -overeat and sleep late. But that doesn’t hurt me for carrying soup, does -it?” - -No one answered this challenge; instead, he was the recipient of another -question that caused him to squirm. - -“Would you consider yourself a moral young man?” - -Slowly the applicant shook his head. - -“To what Church do you belong?” - -“I don’t.” - -“How long since you attended divine service?” - -“A good many years, I’m afraid.” - -There followed a moment of silence; the men at the table exchanged -glances, and into Dimples’s face there came an apprehensive, hunted -look. He wet his lips, then said: - -“Anyhow, you can’t accuse me of mendacity. I don’t lie. Now that you -know the worst about me, I’d like to inventory my good points.” This he -proceeded to do, but in all honesty it must be said that his showing was -not impressive. Never having given serious thought to his virtues, there -were few that he could recall at such short notice. He concluded by -saying: “I know I can make good if you’ll give me a chance. I—I’ll work -like a dog, and I’ll keep the boys laughing. I won’t let them get -homesick. I— Why, gentlemen, this is my last chance! It will break my -heart if you turn me down.” - -Not unkindly the “judge” said: - -“We will consider your application and notify you.” - -This very kindliness of tone caused the fat man to pale. - -“I know what that means,” he protested. “That’s Y. M. C. A. for ‘no.’ -Let me go,” he implored. “I’ll serve. I’ll stand the punishment. I’m -strong and I’ll work till I drop. You won’t be ashamed of me, honestly.” - -“We’ll notify you without delay, Mr. Dalrymple.” - -There was no more to be said. Dimples wallowed out of the room with his -head down. - -That night he walked the soft-carpeted floor of his chamber until very -late, and when he did go to bed it was not to sleep. Daylight found him -turning restlessly, his eyes wide open and tragic. Another failure! -Within him the spirit of sacrifice burned with consuming fury, but there -was no outlet for it. Through his veins ran the blood of a fighting -family; nevertheless, a malicious prank of nature had doomed him to play -the part of Falstaff or of Fatty Arbuckle. What could he do to help? -Doubtless he could find work for his hands in ship-yard or foundry, but -they were soft, white hands, and they knew no trade. Give? He had given -freely and would give more; but everybody was giving. No; action called -him. He belonged in the roar and the din of things where men’s spirit -tells. - -That afternoon he was waddling down Fifth Avenue when Mr. Augustus Van -Loan stopped him to exclaim: - -“Good Heavens, Dimples! What has happened to you?” - -Van Loan was a malefactor of great wealth. His name was a hissing upon -the lips of soap-box orators. None of his malefactions, to be sure, had -ever yet been uncovered, nor were any of the strident-voiced orators -even distantly acquainted with him, but his wealth was an established -fact of such enormity that in the public eye he was suspect. - -“I’m all in,” the disconsolate mammoth mumbled, and then made known his -sorrow. “Too fat to get in the army; too soft morally to get in the Y. -M. C. A. I didn’t know how rotten I am. I can’t carry a gun for my -country; I’m not good enough to lug soup to the boys who do. And, -meanwhile, the Huns are pressing forward.” - -Van Loan eyed him shrewdly. - -“Do you feel it as badly as all that?” - -Dalrymple nodded. - -“I don’t want to be a hero. Who ever heard of a hero with a waistband -like mine? No; I’d just like to help our lads grin and bear it, and be a -big, cheerful fat brother to them.” - -Without a word Mr. Van Loan took a card from his pocket and wrote a few -lines thereon. - -“Take that down to the Y and tell them to send you on the next ship.” He -handed Dimples the card, whereupon the giant stared at him. - -“D—d’you know that outfit?” - -“_Know_ it?” Van Loan smiled. “I’m the fellow who’s raising the money -for them. They’ve darn near broken me, but—it’s worth it.” - -With a gurgling shout Dimples wrung the malefactor’s hand; then he -bolted for the nearest taxi-stand and squeezed himself through a cab -door. - -Ten minutes later he entered the boardroom at the Y. M. C. A. and flung -Van Loan’s card upon the table. - -“Read that!” he told the astonished occupants. - -The “judge” read and passed the card along. - -“Where do I go from here?” Dimples demanded, in a voice of triumph. - -“Why”—the “judge” cleared his throat—“to your tailor’s for a uniform, I -should say.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER III - - “_One Man to Every Ten!_” - - -Late the following afternoon, as the judicial member of the Y examiners -was leaving the building, his path was barred by a huge, rotund figure -in khaki which rose from a bench in the hall. It was Dalrymple. - -“I’ve been blocking traffic here for an hour,” the giant explained. -“Look at me! It’s the biggest uniform in New York, and it was made in -the shortest time.” Noting the effect his appearance created, he went -on, “I suppose I do look funny, but—there’s nothing funny to me about -it.” - -The elder man’s face grew serious. - -“I’m beginning to believe you’ll make good, Dalrymple. I hope so, for -your sake and for the sake of the Association. If you don’t, we’ll have -to order you back.” - -“I’ll take that chance. You gentlemen think I’m unfit to wear these -clothes and—maybe I was yesterday, or even this morning. But when I saw -myself in this uniform I took stock and cleaned house. I got all my bad -habits together and laid them away in moth-balls for the duration of the -war.” - -“That means something for a man like you. What induced you to do it?” - -“This.” Dimples stroked his khaki sleeve with reverent, caressing -fingers. “It’s almost like the real thing, isn’t it? Not quite, but near -enough. It’s as near as I can ever get, and I sha’n’t do anything to -disgrace it. I can shut my eyes and imagine it _is_ the real thing. I -don’t suppose you understand in the least what I’m driving at—” - -“I think I understand thoroughly, sir. But don’t believe for a moment -there is anything counterfeit, anything bullet-proof, about what you -have on. You will be fighting, Dalrymple, just the same as the other -boys; every service you perform, every word of cheer, every deed of -kindness, will be a bomb dropped back of the German lines. Why, man, do -you know that the work of the Y. M. C. A. adds ten per cent. to our -fighting force? It’s a fact; Pershing says so. If you make good, you’ll -be adding one man to every ten you meet.” - -“‘One man to every ten!’” Dimples breathed. “That’s great! That’s more -than I could have done the other way. I’m good for something, after -all.” - - * * * * * - -It seemed impossible that a wealthy, prominent young New York club-man -could so quickly, so utterly drop out of sight as did Dimples Dalrymple. -One day he was in his familiar haunts, a rotund, mirth-provoking -spectacle in his bulging uniform, with his tiny overseas cap set above -his round, red face like the calyx of a huge ripe berry; the next day he -was gone, and for several months thereafter his world knew him not. - -[Illustration: A ROTUND, MIRTH-PROVOKING SPECTACLE IN HIS BULGING -UNIFORM, WITH HIS TINY OVERSEAS CAP SET ABOVE HIS ROUND, RED FACE LIKE -THE CALYX OF A HUGE RIPE BERRY] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - _Hill Two Eighty-five_ - - -Captain Shipp, now attached to a famous division awaiting embarkation, -was the first to hear from him. He read Dimples’s letter twice before -passing it on. It ran as follows: - - DEAR BRIGADIER-GENERAL,—You must be all of the above by - this time; if not, there is favoritism somewhere and you - ought to complain about it. Probably you’re wondering - where I am. Well, that’s your privilege, Brig. I’m in a - two-by-four village with a name as long as the Frisco - System, and you’ll instantly recognize it when I tell - you it has one white street and a million rats. There - are no houses whatever. Further information might give - aid and comfort to the enemy. - - I’ve written lots of letters back home, but this is the - first one of my own that I’ve had time for. I’m in the - game, Brig, and I haven’t fumbled the ball. I live in a - little tin shanty with a sand-bag roof, and I wear a - little tin hat that holds just enough warm water to - shave with. It held more—until lately; now there’s a - hole in it that I wouldn’t trade for the Hudson “tube.” - I was starting out with two cans of hot cocoa when the - street was shelled. I spilled the boys’ cocoa and got a - dent in my own, but those Bessemer derbies are certainly - handy shock-absorbers. I woke up with my head in Dr. - Peters’s lap. - - Right here I must make you acquainted with Pete. He’s a - hundred-pound hymn-weevil, and the best all-round - reverend that ever snatched a brand from the burning. He - dragged me in under cover all alone, and he used no - hooks. Pretty good for a guy his size, eh? - - Pete and I are partners in crime—and, say, the stuff we - pull in this hut! Movies, theatricals, concerts, - boxing-bees—with the half-portion reverend in every - scrimmage. He’s a Syncopated Baptist, or an Episcopalian - Elk, or something; anyhow, he’s nine parts human and one - part divine. That’s the way the Y is wearing them over - here. He’s got the pep, and the boys swear by him. When - the war is over he hopes to get a little church - somewhere, and I’m going to see that he does, if I have - to buy it, for I want to hear him preach. I never have - heard him, but I’ll bet he’s a bear. Take it from me, - he’ll need a modest cathedral with about six acres of - parking-space inside and a nail in the door for the S. - R. O. sign. - - We have a piano, and games, and writing-materials, and a - stock of candy and tobacco and chocolate and stuff like - that. I haven’t tasted a single chocolate. Fact! But it - has made an old man of me. Gee! I’d give that loft - building on Sixteenth Street to be alone with an order - of corn-starch pudding. However, barring the fact that I - haven’t lost an ounce in weight, I’m having a grand - time, for there’s always something to do. Details are - constantly passing through, to and from the front-line - trenches, which (whisper) are so close that we can smell - the Germans. That’s the reason we wear nose-bags full of - chloride of lime or something. Pete and I spend our days - making millions of gallons of tea and coffee and cocoa, - and selling canned goods, and sewing on buttons, and - cracking jokes, and playing the piano, and lugging - stretchers, and making doughnuts, and getting the boys - to write home to mother, and various little odd jobs; - then, at night, we take supplies up to the lads in the - front row of the orchestra. That’s a pretty game, by the - way, for a man of my size. Nobody ever undertakes to - pass me in a trench; I lie down and let them climb over. - It keeps the boys good-natured, and that’s part of my - job. “Hill Two Eighty-five”—that’s what they call me. - - We had a caller to-day. One of the Krupp family dropped - in on us and jazzed up the whole premises. There is Bull - Durham and rice-papers and chocolate and raspberry jam - all over this village, and one corner of our hut has - gone away from here entirely. We haven’t found the - stove, either, although Pete retrieved the damper, and - the rest of it is probably somewhere near by. - - Of course I had nothing hot for the boys when I went up - to-night. It was raining, too, and cold. But they didn’t - mind. They don’t mind anything—they’re wonderful that - way. We all had a good laugh over it, and they pretended - they were glad it was the stove and not I that got - strafed. I really believe they like me. Anyhow, they - made me think they do, and I was so pleased I couldn’t - resist sitting down and writing you. Altogether, it was - a great day and a perfect evening. - - Yours till the last “down,” - DIMPLES. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER V - - _Dimples Takes Part in a Ceremony_ - - -During the first few weeks after his arrival in France Captain Shipp had -no time whatever for affairs of his own, but a day came finally when he -took a train for a certain base close up behind an American sector, -intending there to more definitely locate Dimples’s whereabouts and to -walk in upon him unannounced. It would be a memorable reunion; he could -hear now the big fellow’s shout of welcome. That genial behemoth would -have a tale to unfold, and they would talk steadily until Shipp’s leave -was up. - -But bad news was waiting at the base—news that sent the captain hurrying -from first one hospital to another. - -“Dalrymple? Oh yes, he’s here,” an orderly informed the distracted -visitor. - -“Is he— May I see him?” - -A small, hollow-eyed man with a red triangle upon his sleeve rose from a -chair and approached to inquire: - -“Are you, by any chance, Captain Shipp?” - -“I am.” - -“Dimples has often spoken of you. He has been expecting you for weeks. -I’m just going in.” - -“You are Doctor Peters—Pete?” The Y secretary nodded. “What ails him? I -heard he was wounded—” - -“Yes. His leg. It’s very serious. I come every day.” - -The speaker led the way, and Shipp followed down a long hall redolent of -sickly drug smells, past clean white operating-rooms peopled with -silent-moving figures, past doors through which the captain glimpsed -dwindling rows of beds and occasional sights that caused his face to -set. In that hushed half-whisper assumed by hospital visitors, he -inquired: - -“How did it happen?” - -“There was a raid—a heavy barrage and considerable gas—and it caught him -while he was up with supplies for the men. He began helping the wounded -out, of course. It was a nasty affair—our men were new, you see, and it -was pretty trying for green troops. They said, later, that he helped to -steady them quite as much as did their officers.” - -“I can believe that. He’s a man to tie to.” - -“Yes, yes. We all felt that, the very first day he came. Why, he was an -inspiration to the men! He was mother, brother, pal, servant to the best -and to the worst of them. Always laughing, singing—There! Listen!” - -The Reverend Doctor Peters paused inside the entrance to a ward, and -Shipp heard a familiar voice raised in quavering song: - - “By the star-shell’s light, - I see you; I see you. - If you want to see your father in the Fatherland, - Keep your head down, Fritzie boy.” - -“Why”—Shipp uttered a choking cry—“he’s out of his head!” - -“Oh yes; he has been that way ever since they amputated.” - -“‘Amp—’ Good God!” Shipp groped blindly for support; briefly he covered -his eyes. Then, like a man in a trance, he followed down the aisle until -he stood, white-lipped and trembling, at the foot of Dalrymple’s bed. - -It was difficult to recognize Dimples in this pallid, shrunken person -with the dark, roving eyes and babbling tongue. The voice alone was -unchanged; it was husky, faint as if from long, long use, but it was -brave and confident; it ran on ceaselessly: - -“Keep your nerve up, pal; you’re standing it like a hero, and we’ll have -you out to the road in no time. Smokes! I tell you they must have smokes -if you have to bring ’em in on your back—Gangway for the soup-man! Come -and get it, boys. Hot soup—like mother used to make. Put on the Harry -Lauder record again. Now then, all together: - - “I love a lassie, a bonnie, blue-eyed lassie.” - -The little minister had laid a cool hand upon Dimples’s burning brow; -his head was bowed; his lips were moving. - -“When did you write to your mother last?” the sick man babbled on. “Sure -I’ll post it for you, and I’ll add a line of my own to comfort -her—Water! Can’t you understand? He wants water, and mine’s gone. Too -fat to fight! But I’ll make good; I’ll serve. Give me a chance—Steady, -boys! They’re coming. They’re at the wire. Now give ’em hell! We’ll say -it together, old man: ‘Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy -name—’” - -There were scalding tears in Shipp’s eyes; his throat was aching -terribly when Doctor Peters finally led him out of the ward. The last -sound he heard was Dalrymple’s voice quavering: - - “Over there! Over there! - And we won’t come back till it’s over, over there.” - -“I had my hands full at the hut, for the wounded were coming in,” Doctor -Peters was saying, “but every one says Dimples did a man’s work up there -in the mud and the darkness. Some of the fellows confessed that they -couldn’t have hung on, cut off as they were, only for him. But they did. -It was late the next day before we picked him up. He was right out in -the open; he’d been on his way back with a man over his shoulders. He -was very strong, you know, and most of the stretcher-bearers had been -shot down. The wounded man was dying, so Dimples walked into the -barrage.” - -“And he was afraid he wouldn’t make good!” Shipp muttered, with a -crooked, mirthless smile. - -“Yes—imagine it! There was never a day that he didn’t make me ashamed of -myself, never a day that he didn’t do two men’s work. No task was too -hard, too disagreeable, too lowly. And always a smile, a word of cheer, -of hope. Our Master washed people’s feet and cooked a breakfast for -hungry fishermen. Well, the spirit of Christ lives again in that boy.” - -Shipp’s leave had several days to run; such time as he did not spend -with Doctor Peters he put in at Dimples’s bedside. He was there when the -delirium broke; his face was the first that Dimples recognized; his hand -was the first that Dimples’s groping fingers weakly closed upon. - -They had little to say to each other; they merely murmured a few words -and smiled; and while Dimples feasted his eyes upon the brown face over -him, Shipp held his limp, wasted hand tight and stroked it, and vowed -profanely that the sick man was looking very fit. - -Later in the day the captain said, with something like gruffness in his -voice: - -“Lucky thing you pulled yourself together, old man, for you’re booked to -take part in a ceremony to-morrow. A famous French general is going to -kiss you on both cheeks and pin a doodad of some sort on your nightie.” - -Dimples was amazed. - -“Me? Why, the idea!” - -“Sure!” Shipp nodded vigorously. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? And think of me -standing at attention while he does it. Pretty soft for you Y fellows. -Here you are going home with a decoration before I’ve even smelled -powder.” - -“Oh, I’m not going home,” the other declared. “Not yet, anyhow. A -one-legged man can sell cigarettes and sew on buttons and make doughnuts -just as well as a centipede.” - -A smiling nurse paused at the bed to say: - -“You’re awfully thin, Mr. Dalrymple, but we’ll soon have you nice and -fat again. The doctor says you’re to have the most nourishing -food—anything you want, in fact.” - -“‘_Anything?_’” - -“Anything within reason.” - -Dimples grinned wistfully, yet happily. - -“Gee!” said he. “I’d like some cornstarch pudding.” - - - THE END - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s note: - -Cover, full stop inserted after ‘D,’ “T. D. SKIDMORE” - -Page 23, ‘pi’ changed to ‘pin,’ “striving to pin the man’s hateful” - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Too Fat to Fight, by Rex Beach - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOO FAT TO FIGHT *** - -***** This file should be named 50735-0.txt or 50735-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/3/50735/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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