"Say, he looks awful tough," said a voice in Sergeant Mackay's ear.
Sergeant Mackay turned sharply around upon Fatty Matthews.
"Tough! Tough!" he exclaimed, with a choke in his voice. "You're a
damned liar, that's what you are. He looks fine. He looks fine," he
added again furiously. "He looks as if hell itself couldn't scare him."
In the sergeant's eyes strange lights were glistening.
"Yes, you're right, sergeant," said Fatty Matthews humbly. "You're
right, and that's where he's been, too, I guess."
Bravely and gallantly, with the historic and immortal "Cock o' the
North" shrilling out on the evening air, the pipers played them on to
the battalion parade ground, where they halted, silent still and with
that strange air of detached indifference still upon them. They had been
through hell. Nothing else could surprise them. All else, indeed, seemed
paltry.
Briefly, but with heart-reaching words, the colonel thanked the pipers
for what he called "an act of fine and brotherly courtesy.
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