“Must be right smart o'craps in this country.... Ain't like that damn Polignac, Andy?” said Chrisfield.
“Well, they made us drill so hard there wasn't any time for the grass to grow.”
“You're damn right there warn't.”
“Ah'd lak te live in this country a while,” said Chrisfield.
“We might ask 'em to let us off right here.”
“Can't be that the front's like this,” said Judkins, poking his head out between Andrews's and Chrisfield's heads so that the bristles of his unshaven chin rubbed against Chrisfield's cheek. It was a large square head with closely cropped light hair and porcelain-blue eyes under lids that showed white in the red sunburned face, and a square jaw made a little grey by the sprouting beard.
“Say, Andy, how the hell long have we all been in this goddam train?... Ah've done lost track o' the time....”
“What's the matter; are you gettin' old, Chris?” asked Judkins laughing.
Chrisfield had slipped out of the place he held and began poking himself in between Andrews and Judkins.
“We've been on this train four days and five nights, an' we've got half a day's rations left, so we must be getting somewhere,” said Andrews.