The Conscript, smiling: You gave him yours first!
The Marine: Sure; I figured yours 'ud do us, but we should worry now! Say, Fritzie learned somethin' about fightin' today, huh?
The Conscript: I feel like writing a poem about it; only I'll never write it, of course—
The Marine: Cut the comedy, bo! Say, the way you knifed this guy was one swell bit o' work! After he ploughed you up, too!
The poet-conscript shivers. The German opens his eyes wide and looks at them.
The German: Listen—the music! Can you hear it? The Brunhilde motif; it is the valkyr coming for me—
His eyes close again, his head droops.
The Marine: Plumb nuts; I bet he ain't et a square meal in a year! Say, what d'you figure on seein' next, bo?
The Conscript, blankly: Eh?
The Marine: Why, we don't swallow no bull about fightin' for democracy and goin' to heaven; everybody except the home folks is wise to that bunk. But where do we land on the other side, hey? Fightin' Heinie won't ticket us to the pearly gates, will it?