Life in the United States army is very nicely balanced, at least in the big cantonments where civilians are turned into soldiers in about six months’ time.

That is to say there is a well-balanced schedule, so much work and so much play. Reading the schedule of what is required in the way of drill would lead one to suppose that there was no time for play at all, but there is, even on the French front, with grim No Man’s Land staring one in the face. Shows and plays are sometimes given within sound of the big guns.

The officers in charge of the men well knew that “all work and no play makes Jack,” not only a dull boy, but a poor soldier. So recreation is planned for. Part of this plan is to let the young fellows amuse themselves, make their own fun, which sometimes is better than having it made by others.

The captain of the company in which Ned, Bob and Jerry lived, moved and had their being,[191] had planned a minstrel show, as Bob had said. On the cantonment grounds was a theater to which professionals occasionally came from the cities to give their services. Almost every night there was a moving picture show.

“But this is to be different,” explained Bob, to his listening chums. “Captain Trainer has found out that there’s considerable talent in our bunch——”

“Ahem! did you look at me?” asked Jerry, assuming an air of importance.

“He pointed to me!” declared Ned.

“You’re both wrong! It was I—Macbeth—he meant!” declaimed a lad with a deep and resonant voice.

“Oh, cut it out and listen,” advised Bob. “This is the game. The captain has found out there are a lot of fellows in our company who have acted in amateur theatricals, and there are a few professionals. So he’s going to get up a minstrel show, and let the other companies see what we can do. There’ll be a little admission charged, and if we make any money it will go into the company’s fund to buy——”

“Grub!” some one cut in, and everybody laughed, for by this time all knew Bob’s weak point.

“Well, grub, if you like,” he admitted. “But say, fellows, won’t it be great?”

[192]

“Sure!” came in a chorus.

And then the boys fell to talking about the coming minstrel show.

Preparations for it went on apace. Captain Trainer was an enthusiast, and when he set out to do a thing he carried it to a finish. It was that way with the minstrel show.

A good many “try-outs” and much practice work were necessary. Then, after a deal of weeding work, like that which a careful gardener gives his plants, a very good show was evolved.

It took pattern after the usual black-face affairs, with end-men, bones, tambourines, the interlocutor and specialists. Some of the lads were very clever, and really were almost as good as professionals. Ned, Bob and Jerry were called on to state what they could do, and when it was found that they had a comic-song trio “up their sleeves,” they were put down for that.

“We’ll make a hit all right,” declared Bob, after one of the rehearsals.

“If we don’t get hit ourselves,” added Jerry.

“That’s right!” chimed in Ned. “I understand there is a premium on old cabbage stumps and other articles of that nature.”

“Don’t let him scare you, Jerry,” advised the stout lad. “He’s only afraid of that high note of his. But don’t worry, Ned. We’ll cover you up if you make a break!”

[193]

“Huh! I like your nerve. Now come on, let’s try that jazz song over again,” which they did, to the delight of those privileged to listen to the try-out.

In the camp was a professional who showed the boys how to make up with grease paint; burnt cork, the time-honored method of making a black-faced comedian, is now only used by boys when they play in the barn. On the stage, even for amateurs, black grease paint is used.

“Say, you look just like a negro!” exclaimed Bob to Jerry, as they were getting dressed in the evening before the show was to be given. “You’ve even got the walk down pat.”

“Yes. I’ve been practicing a bit,” Jerry admitted. &ldqu............