“You reckon on being a drummer boy? Better not. There’s one with his arm shot off, already.”

“Not Hannibal!” Jerry exclaimed.

“Hannibal who?”

“Hannibal Moss. He’s the boy I mean.”

“Oh, no; not that young rascal of the Eighth. Another boy by the name of Rome, over in the Twiggs division. Now he’ll be a cripple for life.”

“Will he have to go home?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Jerry, “I’d hate to have my arm shot off, but I’d hate worse to have to go home and miss all the rest of the fighting. Could I get his job, do you think?”

The officer laughed. When he laughed, his face lighted up.