To William Green the men of B Company always went when they were "short"

and craved spending money. To any man in B Company "Long" Green would lend five dollars, but he always exacted six in return on pay day.

"What's wrong with your nerves, Green?" inquired Sergeant Hal, stepping out on to the porch of the barracks.

"Slosson has been telling me about kantab," replied Green, with a grimace and a shudder.

"Never heard of him," replied Hal.

"It isn't a 'him' at all, Sarge," rejoined Green. "Kantab is the name of a poison that the Moros extract from one of their plants up in the hills."

"Well, cheer up," urged Sergeant Overton, seating himself and opening a book. "There are no poisons issued in the rations."

"But Slosson was telling me about two soldiers who got kantab in their rations a few years ago," insisted Green.

"Was the quartermaster court-martialed?" asked Sergeant Overton. "Or was it the fault of the company cook?"

"Nothing like it," replied Green. "Two soldiers were on outpost one morning, and they had just prepared their breakfast. Just then they thought they heard a sound in the bushes, so they caught up their rifles and went out to investigate. They found nothing, so they came back to their breakfasts. They thought their coffee tasted rather bitter, but they drank it just the same. Ten minutes later both men were dying in agony. That noise had been a ruse to draw them off, while some native slipped in and put the kantab in their coffee. Ugh! That's a cowardly way to fight. If I find anything bitter about my food, even here in barracks, I'm going to toss the grub out. No kantab for mine," wound up "Long" Green earnestly.

"Did that really happen, Slosson?" asked Sergeant Hal, glancing up from his book.

"Sure," responded Private Slosson nonchalantly.

"I've heard about the stuff, too," nodded Private Kelly. "Only yesterday I heard one native talking about it to another."

"I'm going to watch my chow (food) after this," insisted Green.

For twenty minutes Hal read on, paying no attention to the chatter of soldiers about him. Then a bugle blew, and Hal closed his book with a snap.

"That's sick call, Kelly, and I believe you're on sick report,"

announced the boyish sergeant.

"I'm not going," returned Kelly. "What's the use. The hospital steward, I've been finding out, has no medicines whatever but salts and quinine.

I can't stand the taste of either."

"But you're going to sick call, just the same," Hal retorted dryly.

"Your name is on sick report, so to hospital you go. There's no way out of it."

Sick call is sounded morning and afternoon. It is the first sergeant's duty to enter on sick report the names of all enlisted men who report to him that they are not well, or think they are not well. Then, when sick call sounds, the first sergeant marches to hospital with the men whose names he has entered on sick report.

"Fall in, Kelly," ordered the young sergeant.

"I'll not take salts or quinine," insisted Kelly.

"You'll march to sick call, just the same. Fall in!"

So in step, and briskly, Hal and Private Kelly marched over to the little building which, at Fort Benjamin Franklin, was dignified with the name of hospital. The acting hospital steward was there waiting for them.

As this small command did not have a commissioned medical officer the steward attended to all cases of minor illness. When occasion warranted it the German physician was summoned from Bantoc to prescribe for the men.

"The sick list, steward," reported Hal, handing over the official paper on which Kelly's name alone appeared.

"What ails you, Kelly?" asked the steward.

"Nothing," Kelly answered defiantly.

"Then you'll have to discover an ailment soon," frowned the steward, "or I'll ask Sergeant Overton to report you for shamming sick report."

"Why, truth to tell, I didn't feel very well," a.s.serted Kelly. "But that was two hours ago. I'm feeling fine now."

"Let me see your tongue," ordered the steward. He also "took" Kelly's pulse and noted his respirations, entering all this information on his record.

"Any pain anywhere, Kelly?"

"Sorra the bit," promptly rejoined the soldier.

"You're just a little off-key," went on the hospital steward, with a professional air. "Not much; still, you'd better have some medicine."

"I can't take salts," protested Kelly. "They make me sea-sick. Give me salts, and ye'll have to find a bed for me here, and take care of me for a few days."

"Quinine is about your size," replied the steward, reaching for a five-pound can of the stuff.

"That'll kill me, entirely!"

"Four ten-grain doses never killed any man," insisted the steward.

"I won't take it!"

"Oh, yes, you will, Kelly. This is the Army, and discipline is the rule.

I'll make sure of the first dose by seeing you take it here."

The hospital steward's tone was firm, and under the regulations he was master of the situation.

"Then, for the love of Mike," gasped Kelly, "give me the bitter stuff in a capsule."

"Certainly, if you like it that way, Kelly," a.s.sented the steward, picking up a gelatine ten-grain capsule and packing it tight with the white, bitter powder.

"I don't like it any way," growled Kelly.

"Now, that's nonsense, man. Why, all the medical authorities are agreed that quinine is the greatest blessing to man ever discovered."

"Then why don't the doctors take more of it themselves?" scowled Private Kelly.

"Here you are," continued the steward, capping the capsule and pa.s.sing it to the unwilling victim.

Kelly dropped the capsule into his mouth, resolving to hold it there until he could get outside.

"Here's a gla.s.s of water. Wash it down," ordered the hospital steward.

"Then you can open your mouth and I'll make sure that you've swallowed the stuff."