"Oh, I'll get along with him somehow," says Wilfred. "I'm goin' to try, anyway."
And right there, as I understand it, Wilfred Stanton Bliss started to be a man and a soldier. He had a long way to go, though, it seemed to me.
So here the other day, only a couple of weeks since we made our trip, I'm some surprised to see who it is givin' me the zippy salute on the station platform out home. Yes, it's Wilfred. And say, he's got his shoulders squared, he's carryin' his chin up, and he's wearin' his uniform like it grew on him.
"Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough, eh?"
"Yes, sir," says he. "Seventy-two hours. Had a whale of a time, too. You can't guess who I brought home with me, I'll bet."
I couldn't.
"Our top sergeant—Quigley," says he. "Say, he's all right. He's had us transferred to the best barracks in camp. Guess we deserve it, too, for we're on the way to bein' the crackerjack section of them all. You ought to see us drill. Some class! And it's all due to Quigley. Do you know what he thinks? That we're slated among the next lot to go over. How about that, sir? Won't that be great?"
"Huh!" says I. "How long ago was it you signed up, Wilfred?"
"Just six weeks, sir," says he.
"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we had about a hundred thousand Quigleys!"