“That you'll forgit all about the raw deal they gave you, an' tell everybody how fine ye liked it.”
Andrews felt the mocking notes of the bugle outside stabbing his ears. A non-com's voice roared: “Quiet,” from the end of the building, and the lights went out. Already Andrews could hear the deep breathing of men asleep. He lay awake, staring into the darkness, his body throbbing with the monotonous rhythms of the work of the day. He seemed still to hear the sickening whine in the man's voice as he talked to the sergeant outside in the twilight. “And shall I be reduced to that?” he was asking himself.
Andrews was leaving the latrine when he heard a voice call softly, “Skinny.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Come here, I want to talk to you.” It was the Kid's voice. There was no light in the ill-smelling shack that served for a latrine. Outside they could hear the guard humming softly to himself as he went back and forth before the barracks door.
“Let's you and me be buddies, Skinny.”
“Sure,” said Andrews.
“Say, what d'you think the chance is o' cuttin' loose?”
“Pretty damn poor,” said Andrews.
“Couldn't you just make a noise like a hoop an' roll away?”