Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 159, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 July 1918 — The Case of Bert Carter, Slacker [ARTICLE]

The Case of Bert Carter, Slacker

By BARBARA KERR

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newepa- * per Syndicate.) "So you’re after our wild man from Borneo, are you? Well, here he comes. EQ! Kid, get a move on you; here’s a friend of yours from Hays, Kansas.” Sheriff Beardsley felt the good-hu-mored sarcasm in the boss* tone. He had swaggered a Mt; how did he know what sort of fellows ran the Mine Prop camp on the Narrow Guage? He had got off at Mineral Hot Springs and come overland with a guide and two donkeys—maybe ’twas three. Bert, quickened his pace, came forward frankly and held out his hand. "From Hays, did you say, Jim? Well, Pm sure glad to see some one from Hwys How’s everybody? What did you say your name is?” "Sheriff Beardsley,” grinning rather sheepishly Into the boy’s honest blue eyes, “rm up here after a slacker. Know anything about him?” “Search me 1” replied Bert Innocently, at which the men laughed. Beardsley explained to Bert, who made no comment except that they’d counted on getting out "some extra the trip would interfere. But his camp comrades were outspoken in their disgust: "Why, anyone can see with half an eye that the kid’s not more than twenty,” declared the Boss, who was too fond of Bert to take it calmly. “It’s simply a cooked up mess by some of those foreigners; they’re combing the country for men to make up their quota.” The sheriff found himself nodding—then hastily: “Well, I was sent up here to get him, boys; so I’ll have to take him along.” After two years in the mountains, with only a day off occasionally at Salida, or Moffet, for supplies, Bert was Interested in everything except his forthcoming trial. , “Of course, if it’s up to me, I’ll go. I’ve had some experience; killed more snakes than any other man in camp. If Tm busy and one gets away, I just take a walk till I find one in his place. Why? Because they frighten women.” The sheriff, on arriving at Hays, reccommended bail for Bert till trial day; tn the meantime he loitered about the village. His father and mother had gone to South America a year ago on business; he had not been to Hays for five years, as he went from school to ■ the mountains for his health. You’d agree that he found it; six feet in his stockings; bronzed as an Indian, with an Innocent, direct gaze that was a bit disconcerting till you knew him. So when the board called “Case of Bert Carter, slacker,” he arose to his feet, marched up front and looked them squarely in the eyes. The three men looked at him with honest admiration, but Mary Marvin, the secretary, wanted Bert to feel that she disapproved of him. She was the prettiest girl in the village, the stanchest patriot, and always ready to punish slackers that came her way. Bert could not help feeling her attitude. At first he was mildly curious as to what peeved the pretty lady, but the more he looked at her the sting of it got under his skin. He wanted to ask her outright what was wrong with him.

He told the board that he believed he would be twenty-one the third of June, 1918, but in the absence of family records, would swear to nothing. He was interested to know on what they based their accusation that he was a slacker. u To the board this seemed fair enough, but the way he said slacker made Mary want to jump to her feet and scream: “Just as you might say bread-and-sugar, mother I” Since the board had brought him to Hays at behest of gossips, they must bring in his accusers. Mrs. Ted Livingwood swore that he was the same age a# her Rachael; Rachael was “twenty-three last June. “Ra’ll be obliged to her mother,” snickered some one; twenty-three was getting on toward old-maidhood, here. Mrs. Ben Hopper swore that he was the same age as Tommy; twenty-one In May; she knew, for the boys had many a time celebrated their .birthdays by swimming in Big Creek. Bert smiled, then chuckled behind his hand —boys’ birthdays were like Easter, movable feasts, when swimming was the celebration. ; Things were hopelessly tangled—birthdays of town’s contemporary children were told, as was time of establishing line fences, buying of livestock, tearing down of old landmarks —but no corroborating testimony. Mary was in a white heat: “How can he sit there like a lump on a log and the whole town wrangling about his age?” she whispered. The board was crazy with the futility of it, when the old editor of the Free ' Press walked In with a newspaper file and asked to be sworn; opening it he read: “Born, yesterday to John and Mary Carter, a fine boy. Congratulations, John." To the board: “The date is June fourth, 1897; the boy will be twenty-one June third, 1918.” Without comment, he walked out Without further ado the board adjourned, congratulated Bert, and closed the incident, but the secretary’s angry eyes held Bert Without apparent volition he walked up to her and asked if she wished to speak to him. “Yes, I dor exclaimed Mary, vehemently. “How could ypu sit there

that way? Why didn’t you get up and say you’d go, anyway?” “Why, Miss Marvin, | thought a trial was a trial. It would be queer for a man to say: ‘Oh, stop It, I’ll confess Tm guilty,’ just to stop the fuss, wouldn’t it?” “Well, yes,” Mary admitted,' “but you needn't let it come to that. Why do you suppose the Lord gave you all that strength if not to defend your country?” “Oh, why,” stammered Bert, ‘Til go if you want me to.” But Mary had walked away, her head in the air. Bert was puzzled. He had heard little discussion of the war. To him it was a matter of age. He’d go when called. What v was the matter with the girl? He’d go ask her. Mary hesitated, then held out her hand. “I—mother says I was rude to you today. Forgive me and I’ll tell you how I feel about it.” So Bert received his first lesson in patriotism from the lips of a pretty girl, too much in earnest to remember that she was pretty; that Bert was handsome —or anything else except that she wanted him to be a soldier. Presently Mrs. Marvin came in and Bert spent the happiest evening of his life. When he arose to go he asked and obtained permission to come again. Returning to the Windsor, he saw a light In the Frqp Press office and went up to thank the editor for his kindness. He disclaimed any credit, saying that he was a friend of his family; intimated that Bert was glad not to go to war. “Why, no, Mr. Pressman, I don’t care much either way. Thought I’d go when called; but I’ve made up my mind to enlist. I’m not a coward.” But the editor dismissed him with a curt nod, to Bert’S chagrin. His lessons in patriotism progressed till the town wondsred if Bert would stay in Hays or Mary go to the mountains. Bert was sure that life without Mary was not worth living. But Mary tearfully but firmly refused him, dearly as she knew she loved him; she could not marry a man younger than herself —she was past twenty. Bert did not tell her he had enlisted, but said good-by and took the first train back to camp. A dreary journey, but more than one indifferent chap who talked to Bert had his views changed about his duty to his country. His camp fellows met him eagerly, glad that he was back; they had missed him; had some mail for him, too. It was a belated letter from his mother, telling him of sickness, discouragements and inability to get mail, but the paragraph that held his attention read: “You are now of draft age, my dearest son, because after you were hurt and missed school, I gave you the birthday of the baby that died, so you’ll not seem so behind in school work. No one knows this, dearest, but mother and you. Do as your heart bids you.” e “Heart’s all right, mbther dear,”ll6 whispered, kissing the letter. Then to the camp: “Well, fellows, I came back to tell you the news. Pm engaged to the prettiest girl in Ellis county, and have enlisted in Uncle Sam’s army—in Colorado—didn’t want to stand in the way of any Hays patriots—so better be good to Bertie while you’ve got a chance.” Of course, the announcement of his engagement was a bit hasty, but Mary corroborated it when told the particulars.