Summary

Charles King From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

An instant of silence, then, shaking from head to foot, the tears fairly starting from his eyes, unable for the moment to speak at all, laughing himself to the verge of apoplexy, the Doctor motions the youngster from the foot to the head of the class, and it is a full minute before order is restored and the laughter of the First Latin subsides. Even then, every little while some boy bursts out into a chuckle of merriment, and Hoover glares at him with new malevolence. Every little while the Doctor settles back in his chair and shakes anew.
Source: Gutenberg

Charles King From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

But now there was a crash on the broad flagstones as the red-labelled, calf-bound, tightly-strapped volumes of Virgil and Xenophon went spinning to the curb, and, wrenching himself free from Bertram's relaxing grasp, Shorty flew at Sandy Briggs like a bull terrier at some marauding hound. Quick, alert, active, the surest-footed boy in the school, there was no dodging his spring. The whack of the leather on the flagging was echoed on the instant by the biff-bapp of two knotty fists, and Briggs reeled back before the sudden storm and tumbled into the gutter.
Source: Gutenberg

Charles King From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

War was a new, strange, and terrible thing to George Lawton. For a few minutes after his thrilling adventure, while the soldiers were binding with bed-cords the wrists of the three unscathed captives, and Stark and Flint were ministering to the wounded officer, Snipe leaned against a tree, the same feeling of nausea and faintness overcoming him now as it did one day when he saw the brutal beating of an Irish wagoner on Fourth Avenue.
Source: Gutenberg

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