face was so hideous, so startling, that Max gaped at
him rudely, lost in horror. Nose and lips had been partly cut away. The
teeth and gums showed in a ghastly, perpetual grin. But as if this were
not enough to single him out among a thousand, a pair of black,
red-rimmed eyes had been tattooed on the large forehead, just above a
bushy, auburn line overhanging the eyes which nature had pushed deeply
in between protruding cheek and frontal bones.

"Good heavens!" Max blurted out aloud; and the Dutchman cackled with
laughter. "You're no Frenchman, boy!" he loudly asserted in English.
"Now we've got at your own jargon. Go away, Mister Pelle, you're
frightening our British baby. Or is it Yankee?"

An angry answer jumped to the tip of Max's tongue, but he bit it back.
So this living corpse was Pelle, the champion boxer of the Legion, who
would fight the Frenchman!

The new recruit was ashamed of the sick spasm of disgust that closed his
throat. He felt that it was a sign of raw youth and amateurishness, as
when a medical student faints at first sight of the dissecting table. He
feared that his face had betrayed him to these soldiers, many of whom
had hardened their nerves on battlefields. Somehow he must justify
himself, and force respect from the men who greeted Van Loo's cheap wit
with an appreciative roar.

Pelle was the only one who did not laugh. He came lumbering along in
silence as if he had not heard; but Max saw that the boxer was aiming
straight for him. The newly christened St. George stood still, waiting
to see what the dragon would do. Within three feet of the recruit the
hero of the Legion came to a stop and looked the slim figure in civilian
clothes slowly over from head to foot, as Goliath may sarcastically have
studied the points of David. The whole group was hypnotized, enchanted,
each man in white praying that it might be five minutes yet before the
corporal returned to shepherd his three lambs. Much can happen in five
minutes. Battles can be won or lost! and at anything Pelle might do,
under provocation, the powers that were would wink. Not an officer below
the colonel but had money on the match which was to come off in the
barrack square to-morrow.

All four eyes of Quatro Oyos seemed to stare at the insignificant shrimp
of a recruit. Max had but two eyes with which to return the compliment,
but he made the most of them. Pelle was not only hideous: he was
formidable. The big square head and ravaged