“Yes. I was there that day and saw the whole thing! I didn’t blame you. I hate the sight of him. He bunks next to me, you know. I wish he didn’t. But then, what do I care? I can take care of myself. Don’t let’s talk about him. It makes me sore just to think of him. Those three fellows you run with are good chaps. You were lucky to get in with them. They all treat me fine, though I hardly know them.”
Praise of his Brothers caused Ignace to launch forth into the story of his first meeting with them, and of all they had done for him. Schnitzel listened without comment, merely repeating, “You were lucky,” when Ignace had finished. With that he relapsed into taciturn silence, hurriedly finished his meal, and with a brief “So long” rose and left Ignace to himself.
The latter, however, was not concerned by his table-mate’s sudden relapse into uncommunicativeness. He watched Schnitzel walk away, a gleam of interest in his round, childlike eyes. He would have something pleasant to tell his Brothers on their return. They would be surprised to learn that the “so quiet fellow who never talk” had said so much to him.
His letter to his mother still unwritten, Ignace decided to begin it directly he had cleansed and put away his mess kit. Seven o’clock saw him established at a desk in the Y. M. C. A., laboriously wielding a stubby pencil. This time he wrote in Polish and at some length. It was almost nine o’clock when he finished amid frequent yawns. Realizing that he was getting very sleepy, he took a brisk walk up and down the company street on which his barrack was situated. He was determined to fight off sleep, so as to stay awake until his bunkies’ return.
He lingered outside in the crisp night air until call to quarters drove him reluctantly indoors. After Taps, however, his struggle began in earnest.
From the sounds of deep breathing about him he guessed that he alone was still awake. By the time that eleven o’clock had actually arrived he was sure that it was past twelve, and that his bunkies had overstayed their leave of absence. The setting in of this dire conjecture roused him in earnest. He had now no further need to fight off sleep.
His face turned anxiously in the direction of the stairway; he was not aware that across the squad room a man had noiselessly left his cot and was slipping along cat-footed toward one of the three vacant bunks just beyond Ignace’s own. Though he heard no sound, that inexplicable sense that warns of stealthy approach wrenched the Pole’s straying gaze from the direction of the stairway.
A sudden echoing yell of mingled surprise and anger was followed by the smack of a bare fist against flesh. Came a scuffle of feet and a resounding thump as two bodies hit the floor. The racket aroused the peacefully dreaming occupants of the squad room to startled awakening. As the thumping continued, mingled with hoarse exclamations, enraged sputterings, and the thudding impact of blows, a babble of voices rose on all sides. With it came lights and an exasperated top sergeant bearing down upon the combatants with fire in his eye.
He might have been a thousand miles away so far as the fighters were concerned. They had now gained their feet, and were engaged in battle royal.
“Stop it!” bellowed the sergeant. “Break away! Get back to your bunks, both of you.”