Part 5 (2/2)
”Yo!” came a shrill voice from the end of the line.
”Ans.p.a.ch.”
”Here.”
Meanwhile outside the other barracks other companies could be heard calling the roll. Somewhere from the end of the street came a cheer.
”Well, I guess I can tell you now, fellers,” said the sergeant with his air of quiet omniscience, when he had called the last name. ”We're going overseas.”
Everybody cheered.
”Shut up, you don't want the Huns to hear us, do you?”
The company laughed, and there was a broad grin on the sergeant's round face.
”Seem to have a pretty decent top-kicker,” whispered Fuselli to the man next to him.
”You bet yer, kid, he's a peach,” said the other man in a voice full of devotion. ”This is some company, I can tell you that.”
”You bet it is,” said the next man along. ”The corporal's in the Red Sox outfield.”
The lieutenant appeared suddenly in the area of light in front of the barracks. He was a pink-faced boy. His trench coat, a little too large, was very new and stuck out stiffly from his legs.
”Everything all right, sergeant? Everything all right?” he asked several times, s.h.i.+fting his weight from one foot to the other.
”All ready for entrainment, sir,” said the sergeant heartily.
”Very good, I'll let you know the order of march in a minute.”
Fuselli's ears pounded with strange excitement. These phrases, ”entrainment,” ”order of march,” had a businesslike sound. He suddenly started to wonder how it would feel to be under fire. Memories of movies flickered in his mind.
”Gawd, ain't I glad to git out o' this h.e.l.l-hole,” he said to the man next him.
”The next one may be more of a h.e.l.l-hole yet, buddy,” said the sergeant striding up and down with his important confident walk.
Everybody laughed.
”He's some sergeant, our sergeant is,” said the man next to Fuselli.
”He's got brains in his head, that boy has.”
”All right, break ranks,” said the sergeant, ”but if anybody moves away from this barracks, I'll put him in K. P. Till--till he'll be able to peel spuds in his sleep.”
The company laughed again. Fuselli noticed with displeasure that the tall man with the shrill voice whose name had been called first on the roll did not laugh but spat disgustedly out of the corner of his mouth.
”Well, there are bad eggs in every good bunch,” thought Fuselli.
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