“Anspach.”
“Here.”
Meanwhile outside the other barracks other companies could be heard calling the roll. Somewhere from the end of the street came a cheer.
“Well, I guess I can tell you now, fellers,” said the sergeant with his air of quiet omniscience, when he had called the last name. “We're going overseas.”
Everybody cheered.
“Shut up, you don't want the Huns to hear us, do you?”
The company laughed, and there was a broad grin on the sergeant's round face.
“Seem to have a pretty decent top-kicker,” whispered Fuselli to the man next to him.
“You bet yer, kid, he's a peach,” said the other man in a voice full of devotion. “This is some company, I can tell you that.”
“You bet it is,” said the next man along. “The corporal's in the Red Sox outfield.”