“Miss Meadows? Here it is. Better write it down. Got a pencil? All right. Well, so long. Look me up again. Come to see me when you’re in Chicago. Good-night, McCall.”
XV
Hamilton was lying leisurely on his bed, smoking a cigarette and reading a letter from Margaret, when McCall burst into the room.
“Got my order! Got my order!” he shouted, waving a slip of paper. “Hooray! Kaloo! Kalay! Come on, Hamilton, help me pack.”
“Gee, great stuff!” said Hamilton, jumping up. “When did it come?”
“Just now! Hooray! I haven’t packed a thing. I’m going to take my physical exam at eleven and catch the noon train, if I can. It’s half-past nine now.”
“Have you signed your statement that you’re free from indebtedness?”
“Almost forgot. But I can do it and make the train, anyway. Come on, old top, give me a lift!”
Together they hurried out of the room and down the row of wooden barracks. McCall was talking excitedly.
“No more of these damned barracks, all looking alike,” he said. “That’s the worst thing about the camp. Every blamed building looks like every other building. If they’d only make one a little longer than the other. Or even get the lines crooked. Or paint ’em.”