“Got to get transportation,” said McCall, standing up, after the last strap had been tightened and the last lock turned. “I’ll call up the supply department. Come on!”
They rushed out to the Y. M. C. A., where the nearest telephone was, and McCall disappeared into the booth. He reappeared a few minutes later.
“Sending for it right away. Let’s go back.”
A few minutes later a truck appeared and McCall’s locker trunks and bedding roll were being loaded into it. It seemed very strange. For almost two years they had been together. In the same company at Plattsburg, where they had gotten their commissions together; in the same company at Camp Eustis, where they had drilled rookies; in the same company in France, until casualties had placed each in charge of his own company. They had received their promotions to first lieutenancies and to captaincies on the same day. They had studied together and fought together. Side by side they had stood in muddy trenches. They had tasted the same dangers and hardships, the same hopes and anxieties, the same enthusiasms and pleasures. Now they were to be separated.
McCall was going back to Chicago. In a few days Hamilton was going back to Corinth—and then what would become of their friendship? Parting would sever something from Hamilton’s life. Yes, life was that, a meeting and a parting. One made friends, built up a community of interests, and then the friend moved away or died or grew up into a different being. The next time they met, Hamilton might be engrossed in something else—possibly the details of the Hamilton enterprises and, as conceivably, McCall would be engrossed in his work.
Hamilton had met old schoolmates like that—boys with whom he played football at prep school, boys with whom he had gone on larks, even members of the same club at Harvard. For a few minutes they were always glad to see each other. They recalled old memories. They asked about old friends, almost forgotten, whom neither had seen again. Then they suddenly discovered that they were both bored. Each had his own interests, had become a strange being. It was difficult to pick up old friendships where one had left off.
McCall was chattering on happily:
“There’s a hundred things to do to get away from camp. Coming down with me to the Q. M.’s? I’ll tell you; you be in your room and as soon as I get through I’ll drop in again.”
McCall was swinging rapidly down the road, stopping now and then to shake hands with friends, or to shout “good-bye” excitedly across the road. Hamilton returned to his room. Everything was in order, in case his discharge should come. He could pack within fifteen minutes. He idly went over some reports, ran a brush over his shoes and puttees, and lay down again on his bed. He loosened his coat, took out his letter from Margaret and reread it. Margaret was to sing before the Daughters of the Confederacy and had just been appointed on a committee to welcome the returning soldiers.
Hamilton was dozing away comfortably when McCall burst into the door, a suitcase in either hand.