king an effort to save him; when doing so would be the one
thing that would make _Teniente_ Perkins wild with rage? They were too
cunning to urge open mutiny, but the seed they sowed gave growth to
thought.

The darkies of "B" Troop were, first of all, soldiers. Subordination to
the wills of their superiors was ingrained in their natures. They did
not want to "buck," but it seemed as if the troop commander were trying
to force them to rebel. They endeavored to forget the words of the
Filipino women; but how could they, when all day long old Sergeant
Wilson sat in the corner of the squad room, clasping and unclasping his
straining hands; while on his sleeves were the marks where his first
sergeant's chevrons had been ripped off?

Two more days dragged by, and conditions in the troop grew worse.
Perkins had heard some loud-mouthed private baying forth incendiary, not
to say uncomplimentary remarks; had placed the troop on the straight
ration, and suppressed the pass list. The men wandered about the
quarters with a nervous, preoccupied air. They did not look at each
other. They felt that if they gave rein to their feelings, something
horrible would happen. They did not want it to happen; they wanted to be
good soldiers. But this man was forcing them; forcing their hands. There
is a limit to everything. What he had done was nothing if they had
deserved it. It was the rank injustice that made them furious. They felt
that they must have some escape for their feelings or they would burst
through the bonds. Consequently, when Sergeant Potter broached his
scheme, they hailed it with acclamation. A little conference was held in
one end of the quarters, and after it was over Potter went to speak to
old Jeremiah.

The ex-first sergeant had taken no part in the proceedings--in fact, he
knew nothing of them. He had stayed in his corner, where he had sat for
the last three days, with his eyes fixed on the floor, clasping and
unclasping his hands. Sergeant Potter sat down on a bunk beside him and
touched him on the shoulder. The old man started.

"Look a yere, sarge, yer oughter take a brace. Me and the res' of de
boys is mighty sorry fer yer--we showly is. But yer mussent grieve so,
cause yer showly gwineter be sick ef yer does."

"I'se obleeged to yer, Potter, you and de boys."

"Yes, suh, me an de boys feels mighty bad cause yer got busted, an'--an'
about the other things. Ef yer'll 'scuse me, sarge, fer talkin' about
it, we