he joins the pale procession at sick-call.

si klegg was a good specimen of a healthy, robust hoosier lad—for he could scarcely be called' a man yet. since he lay in his cradle and was dosed with paregoric and catnip tea like other babies, he had never seen a sick day, except when he had the mumps on "both sides" at once. he had done all he could to starve the doctors.

when the 200th ind. took the field it had the usual outfit of men who wrote their names sandwiched between a military title in front and "m. d." behind, a big hospital tent, and an apothecary shop on wheels, loaded to the guards with quinine, blue-mass, castor oil, epsom salts, and all other devices to assuage the sufferings of humanity.

the boys all started out in good shape, and there had been hardly time for them to get sick much yet. so up to this stage of the regiment's history the doctors had found little to do but issue arnica and salve for lame legs and blistered feet, and strut around in their shiny uniforms.

but there came a day when they had all they could attend to. on going into camp one afternoon, the regiment, well in advance, struck a big field of green corn and an orchard of half-ripe apples. of course, the boys sailed in, and natural consequences followed.

"now this is something like!" said si, as he squatted on the ground along with shorty and half a dozen messmates. they surrounded a camp-kettle full of steaming ears and half a bushel or so of apples heaped on a poncho.

"wish we had some o' mother's butter to grease this corn with," observed si, as he flung a cob into the fire and seized a fresh ear.

all agreed that si's head was level on the butter question, but under all the circumstances of the case they were glad enough to have the com without butter.

the ears went off with amazing rapidity. every man seemed to be afraid he wouldn't get his share. when the kettle was empty the boys turned themselves loose on the apples, utterly reckless of results. so, they were filled full, and were thankful.

when si got up he burst off half the buttons on his clothes. he looked as if he was carrying a bass-drum in front of him. after he began to shrink he had to tie up his clothes with a string until he had a chance to repair damages. but during the next 24 hours he had something else to think of.

in fact, it wasn't long till si began to wish he had eaten an ear of corn and an apple or two less. he didn't feel very well. he turned in early, thinking he would go to sleep and be all right in the morning.

along in the night he uttered a yell that came near stampeding the company. an enormous colic was raging around in his interior, and si fairly howled with pain. he thought he was going: to die right away.

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"shorty," said he, between the gripes, to his comrade, "i'm afeared i'm goin' to peter out. after i'm gone you write to—to—annie and tell her i died for my country like a man. i'd ruther been shot than die with the colic, but i 'spose 'twont make much difference after it's all over!" 9 "i'll do it," replied shorty. "we'll plant you in good shape; and si, we'll gather up the corn-cobs and build a monument over you!"

but si wasn't cut off in the bloom of youth by that colic. his eruptive condition frightened shorty, however, and though he was in nearly as bad shape himself, he went up and routed out one of the doctors, who growled a good deal about being disturbed.

the debris of the supper scattered about the camp told him what was the matter, and he had no need to make a critical diagnosis of si's case. he gave him a dose of something or other that made the pain let up a little, and si managed to rub along through the night.

fortunately for si, and for more than half the members of the regiment, the army did not move next day, and the doctors had a good opportunity to get in their work.

at the usual hour in the morning the bugle blew the "sick-call." a regiment of tanned and grizzled veterans from ohio lay next to the 200th ind., and as si lay there he heard them take up the music:

"git yer qui-nine! git yer qui-nine!

tumble up you sick and lame and blind;

git a-long right smart, you'll be left be-hind."

"fall in fer yer ipecac!" shouted the orderly of co. q. si joined the procession and went wabbling up to the "doctor's" shop. he was better than he had been during the night, but still looked a good deal discouraged.

it was a regular matinee that day. the surgeon and his assistants were all on hand, as the various squads, colicky and cadaverous, came to a focus in front of the tent.

a rude awakening 093

the doctors worked off the patients at a rapid rate, generally prescribing the same medicine for all, no matter what ailed them. this was the way the army doctors always did, but it happened in this case that they were not far wrong, as the ailments, arising from a common cause, were much the same.

si waited till his turn came, and received his rations from the hospital steward. of course, he was excused from duty for the day, and as he speedily recovered his normal condition he really had a good time.

visits the doctor 094

a few days after this the whole regiment was ordered on fatigue duty to repair an old corduroy road. si didn't want to go, and "played off." he told the orderly he wasn't able to work, but the orderly said he would have to shoulder an ax or a shovel, unless he was excused by the doctor. he went up at sick-call and made a wry face, with his hands clasped over his body in the latitude of his waistband.

the doctor gave him a lot of blue-mass pills, which si threw into the fire as soon as he got back to his quarters. then he played seven-up all day with shorty, who had learned before si did how to get a day off when he wanted it.

si thought it was a great scheme, but he tried it once too often. the doctor "caught on," and said, the next time si went up, that castor oil was what he needed to fetch him around. so he poured out a large dose and made si take it right then and there.

the next time fatigue duty was ordered si thought he felt well enough to go along with the boys.