“Oh, very well,” said Sergeant Gray cheerfully. “You’ll be sorry. That’s all. Come on, Joe.” He raised his voice in song.
“Where do we go from here, Joe, where do we go from here?” he sang in a very deep bass.
At the centre table he stopped, however, with Joe’s revolver very close to him, and consulted Mr. Booth’s watch which, with all of his money but car fare back to camp, lay in a heap there.
“You might hurry a bit, Joe,” he suggested “I’ve only got twenty-three and a half hours’ leave, and time’s flying. You’ll observe,” he added, “that old Booth’s money and watch are here.” He glanced significantly toward the elevator man. “Eight dollars and ninety cents, Joe,” he said. “The old boy’ll need it for a doctor.”
The general breakfasted rather late the next morning—at seven o’clock. His ordinary hour was six-thirty. He had eaten three fried eggs, some fried potatoes, a bran muffin, drunk a cup of coffee, and was trying to remember if he had made any indiscreet remarks at a dinner party the night before about Pershing or the General Staff, when an aide came in with a report. The general read it slowly, then looked up.
“You mean to say,” he inquired, “that those fellows haven’t had any clothes since yesterday morning?”
“No uniforms, sir.”
“The entire troop?”
“All except those who were on duty here yesterday, sir. I believe”—the aide hesitated—“I believe some of them went to town anyhow, sir.”
“The devil you say!” roared the general.