One instant he was visible
beating back the fire with a wet blanket, waving it above him
jubilantly, like a substitute at the Army-Navy game when his side
scores, and the next staggering from out of the furnace dragging an
asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and shrieking, "Hospital-steward,
hospital-steward! here's a man on fire. Put him out, and send him
back to me, quick!"
Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame
related that he chuckled continuously. "Isn't this fun?" he yelled at
them. "Say, isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this for
a trip to New York!"
When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering
words to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged
hands, complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the
assembled regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and
fearful oaths.
That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy.
"Goodness, mighty me!" he cried, "did you hear him? Wasn't it awful?
If I'd thought he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What's
the use of spoiling the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'd
known you could get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I'd
have put a match to it myself three months ago.
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