s, and also a German machine gun has
enfiladed the trench. Ninety-nine Americans have been killed in the
trench. One is alive, but dying. He speaks, being part of the time
delirious._

_The Boy_. Why can't I stand? What--is it? I'm wounded. The sand-bags
roll when I try--to hold to them. I'm--badly wounded. (_Sinks down.
Silence._) How still it is! We--we took the trench. Glory be! We took
it! (_Shouts weakly as he lies in the trench._) (_Sits up and stares,
shading his eyes_.) It's horrid still. Why--they're here! Jack--you!
What makes you--lie there? You beggar--oh, my God! They're dead.
Jack Arnold, and Martin and--Cram and Bennett and Emmet
and--Dragamore--Oh--God, God! All the boys! Good American boys. The
whole blamed bunch--dead in a ditch. Only me. Dying, in a ditch filled
with dead men. What's the sense? (_Silence_.) This damned silly war.
This devilish--killing. When we ought to be home, doing man's work--and
play. Getting some tennis, maybe, this hot afternoon; coming in sweaty
and dirty--and happy--to a tub--and dinner--with mother. (_Groans_.) It
begins to hurt--oh, it hurts confoundedly. (_Becomes delirious_.)
Canoeing on the river. With little Jim. See that trout jump, Jimmie?
Cast now. Under the log at the edge of the trees. That's it! Good--oh!
(_Groans_.) It hurts--badly. Why, how can I stand it? How can anybody?
I'm badly wounded. Jimmie--tell mother. Oh--good boy--you've hooked him.
Now play him; lead him away from the lily-pads. (_Groans_.) Oh, mother!
Won't you come? I'm wounded. You never failed me before. I need you--if
I die. You went away down--to the gate of life, to bring me inside.
Now--it's the gate of death--you won't fail? You'll bring me through to
that other life? You and I, mother--and I won't be scared. You're the
first--and the last. (_Puts out his arm searching and folds a hand,
still warm, of a dead soldier_.) Ah--mother, my dear. I knew--you'd
come. Your hand is warm--comforting. You always--are there when I need
you. All my life. Things are getting--hazy. (_He laughs_.) When I was a
kid and came down in an elevator--I was all right, I didn't mind the
drop if I might hang on to your hand. Remember? (_Pats dead soldier's
hand, then clutches it again tightly_.) You come with me when I go
across and let me--hang on--to your hand. And I won't be scared.
(_Silence_.) This damned--damned--silly war! All the good American boys.
We charged the Fritzes. How they ran! But--there was a mista