'Leaving?' queried Ruggs.
'Yep, got the rasp all right!'
There was an awkward pause, which was filled by the Duke’s interest in the lock of his suitcase, after which he continued haltingly,—
'Meter called me in and told me no use to stay here—said my experience was all right—but because I’d had so much, he expected more. Told me any man that got fussed up and couldn’t get out of an easy hole without help after six years' trainin' was no good for leadin' men. Said he couldn’t trust men’s lives to me, and so he couldn’t give me a commission. Gave me a lot of guff like that, with no sense to it. He’s a hell of a man!'
'Do you mean to say you’re discharged—and that’s all?' Ruggs was plainly astounded.
'You bet; that’s the end of the little Duke of Squad 15. Be good to yourself. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, will you?'
Several men strolled back from supper. The Duke casting a furtive glance in their direction as much as to say, 'I don’t care to meet any of them any more,' added a 'So long,' and disappeared, suitcase in hand, through the side door.
'What chance for me,' thought Ruggs, 'if the Duke gets the raspberry?'
That night he carefully smoothed out a civilian suit and placed it on a hanger at the head of his cot. He also wrote several letters to business friends at home. He did not write to Alice.
Excitement for the next few days was severe. Some were not eating their meals, few were sleeping much, and all were stale. The physical training had truly been intensive, but the mental strain had been breaking. Friends greeted each other in a preoccupied way, and the nightly singing had grown feeble.