“Did they bust you?” said Fuselli with sudden eagerness.
“Hell, no. Why should they? They ain't gone and got a new corporal, have they?”
“No, not exactly,” said Fuselli.
V
Meadville stood near the camp gate, watching the motor trucks go by on the main road. Grey, lumbering, and mud-covered, they throbbed by sloughing in and out of the mud holes in the worn road in an endless train stretching as far as he could see into the town and as far as he could see up the road.
He stood with his legs far apart and spat into the center of the road; then he turned to the corporal who had been in the Red Sox outfield and said:
“I'll be goddamed if there ain't somethin' doin'!”
“A hell of a lot doin',” said the corporal, shaking his head.
“Seen that guy Daniels who's been to the front?”
“No.”