In the meantime, Hal, after some brisk practice at wig-wagging, was on his way back to barracks with Sergeant Hupner.
"You're going to make a real signalman, one of these days, lad," remarked the sergeant, kindly. "You have the speed, and you don't lose any of the clearness of your signaling when you go fast."
"It's great work," smiled Corporal Hal. "Just for the moment it makes me almost sorry that I didn't enlist in the signal corps."
"The infantry is the real branch of the service—the real fighting arm," returned Sergeant Hupner.
"Yes; I know it, and that's the principal reason why I chose the infantry before enlisting."
Together the sergeant and his young corporal entered the barracks, stepping into their own squad room.
There the very first person they met was Private William Green, looking, still, as though he wanted to burst into tears. Green hadn't smiled once since meeting with his big loss.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant," was Green's greeting. He didn't seem to see Hal at all, a fact that the boyish soldier noted instantly. It cut like a whip to know that Green really suspected his young corporal.
Hal stepped down the length of the squad room. Some of the men greeted him, though none very enthusiastically.
Then Noll came in, drawing his chum aside and detailing the interview with Lieutenant Prescott.