“In God’s name, what regiment’s that?” Vassar asked half to himself.
A gilded youth with battered hat slouched over his flushed face replied:
“Search me, brother—and what’s more I don’t give a damn—just so they turn on the lights and send me a cab—I’ve just gotter have a cab—I can’t travel without a cab—What t’ell’s the matter anyhow?”
Vassar left him muttering and followed the troops at a brisk trot.
They turned into Sixty-second Street, into Columbus Avenue, and poured through the smashed doors at the Twelfth Regiment Armory—they had been blown open with dynamite.
A sentinel on the corner stopped him.
“Will you tell me what company just entered the Armory?”
The soldier answered in good English with a touch of foreign accent.
