“Yeh, and that Jap might be a German spy. We better watch out.”
They were still talking when Sergeant Ryan arrived. He had left the truck when it stopped. Walking ahead, he had found a deserted village.
“Well, fellahs. You better get down out of there and come with me. There are plenty of places to sleep right up ahead, and as it looks like we’re lost, that’s what we’d better do.”
Sergeant Ryan always talked as if he were about to chuckle. Ever since the platoon had been formed Sergeant Ryan had been held up to the entire company, and often to the battalion, as the best-looking soldier readily to be found. Even in the trenches his nails were manicured, the nails of his long, sensitive fingers. His small, pointed mustache looked as if it had been freshly waxed. His puttees were rolled neatly about his smart-looking legs. And he could drink all night, and, to the eye, not be affected by it.
“We’ll foller Ryan any place, won’t we, guys?”
“You’re damned right.”
They gathered together their equipment and started after him down the road. It was a very small town and had been evacuated two days before. No matter if the feather beds had been taken away, there was plenty of dry hay to sleep on.
Morning came and Sergeant Ryan was awake and engaged in rousing the men. After they had all been found, he assembled them on the street and issued orders:
“Now you men can do what you please. Only don’t break anything. We are going to stay here until somebody comes for us. There ought to be plenty of food around, and you ought to know what to do.”
There was plenty of food. Young pullets stalked temptingly before them, and young Higgins, who heretofore had never distinguished himself in any way, developed an uncanny aptitude of snaring them with a swoop of his left arm, clutching them neatly by the leg. Nearly all of the cellars were stored with potatoes, and wine was not uncommon.