Outside the rain had stopped. A stormy wind had torn the clouds to rags. Here and there clusters of stars showed through. They splashed merrily through the puddles. But here and there reflected a patch of stars when the wind was not ruffling them.
“Christ, Ah wish Ah was like you, Andy,” said Chrisfield.
“You don't want to be like me, Chris. I'm no sort of a person at all. I'm tame. O you don't know how damn tame I am.”
“Learnin' sure do help a feller to git along in the world.”
“Yes, but what's the use of getting along if you haven't any world to get along in? Chris, I belong to a crowd that just fakes learning. I guess the best thing that can happen to us is to get killed in this butchery. We're a tame generation.... It's you that it matters to kill.”
“Ah ain't no good for anythin'.... Ah doan give a damn.... Lawsee, Ah feel sleepy.”
As they slipped in the door of their quarters, the sergeant looked at Chrisfield searchingly. Andrews spoke up at once.
“There's some rumors going on at the latrine, Sarge. The fellows from the Thirty-second say we're going to march into hell's halfacre about Thursday.”
“A lot they know about it.”
“That's the latest edition of the latrine news.”