“Are you goin’ down to the échelon, Sammy?”
“Oui, toot sweet. Wait till I get a ton of this dirt off and I’ll hike along with you.”
“All right, I’m goin’ to look ’round just a bit. Will see you at the kitchen.”
“Trey-beans.”
Jimmy toured the position and inspected his Betsy.
“Well, old girl, you’re finee now,” he said, patting the barrel of his faithful piece affectionately.
He talked with all the boys he met. The one big question that they put to him was, “Know when we go home, Jimmy?” But that was a query beyond his power to answer. A few hinted that the division might be sent into Germany as a part of the Army of Occupation. These suggestions were routed by indignant denial of such a possibility.
“They’ll never send this outfit to Germany. We’re slated for home. Let them guys that just got over here take a crack at that stuff,” snapped Pop Rigney.
Later, after they had mess, Jimmy and Sammy started cross-country for Thierville so that they might pass O. D.’s grave and make a picture of it.
Jimmy found the mound of earth that covered the mortal remains of his pal, and after arranging the helmet on the crude little cross he photographed the grave and walked away with the remark, “O. D. was sure one white man, Sammy.”