“They did, did they?”
“Don't talk so loud, Sarge. It wouldn't do for any of the fellers to know I was talkin' to yer. Say, Sarge...” the voice became whining, “don't you think I've nearly served my time down here?”
“What do I know about that? 'Tain't my job.”
“But, Sarge, I used to be company clerk with my old outfit. Don't ye need a guy round the office?” Andrews strode past them into the barracks. Dull fury possessed him. He took off his clothes and got silently into his blankets.
Hoggenback and Happy were talking beside his bunk.
“Never you mind,” said Hoggenback, “somebody'll get that guy sooner or later.”
“Git him, nauthin'! The fellers in that camp was so damn skeered they jumped if you snapped yer fingers at 'em. It's the discipline. I'm tellin' yer, it gits a feller in the end,” said Happy.
Andrews lay without speaking, listening to their talk, aching in every muscle from the crushing work of the day.
“They court-martialled that guy, a feller told me,” went on Hoggenback. “An' what d'ye think they did to him? Retired on half pay. He was a major.”
“Gawd, if I iver git out o' this army, I'll be so goddam glad,” began Happy. Hoggenback interrupted: