“Sergeant Coffin. Can I speak to you a minute?”
“I'm in a hell of a hurry.”
“Have you heard anything about this army students' corps to send men to universities here in France? Something the Y. M. C. A.'s getting up.”
“Can't be for enlisted men. No I ain't heard a word about it. D'you want to go to school again?”
“If I get a chance. To finish my course.”
“College man, are ye? So am I. Well, I'll let you know if I get any general order about it. Can't do anything without getting a general order about it. Looks to me like it's all bushwa.”
“I guess you're right.”
The street was grey dark. Stung by a sense of impotence, surging with despairing rebelliousness, Andrews hurried back towards the buildings where the company was quartered. He would be late for mess. The grey street was deserted. From a window here and there ruddy light streamed out to make a glowing oblong on the wall of a house opposite.
“Goddam it, if ye don't believe me, you go ask the lootenant.... Look here, Toby, didn't our outfit see hotter work than any goddam engineers?”
Toby had just stepped into the cafe, a tall man with a brown bulldog face and a scar on his left cheek. He spoke rarely and solemnly with a Maine coast Yankee twang.