It was a black, hair-raising brew, but Fred managed to force down a draught of it. About him on all sides men were tearing their meat with clawlike hands, digging their fangs into it in wolfish ferocity... A dishpan of rice was circulated. Fred took a few spoonfuls. Within fifteen minutes the meal was over and the dishpan, emptied of its rice, was passed again. Fred saw his companions flinging their spoons into it. He did likewise. The youth arose. "Let's get out of this and have a smoke... I've got the makings." A great surge of relief swept over Fred. A smoke! Somehow, he had forgotten that such a solace existed in this new world of terror and pain. It appeared that the only place indoors where smoking was permitted was the lavatory, but when they reached the corridor they found a line forming ready to march out to take the air. They decided to wait and have their smoke in the open. Fred and his companion exchanged names. The youth was Felix Monet. "I'm not sure whether you go out with us," Monet admitted, as they swung into place. "This crowd is bound for the front parade ground. It's not usual for newcomers to have that privilege." Fred made no reply. The line of men shuffled forward. "We go downstairs first for our shoes," the youth finished. Presently they found themselves upon the ground floor, in a small room where an attendant distributed shoes and hats. It appeared that Fred's shoes were there, duly labeled. The man in charge made no objection to yielding them up. "You must have a pull," Monet remarked, as Fred sat down upon a stool to draw on his shoes. Fred shook his head in silence. Evidently the assistant superintendent had said a word for him. ... He was not to be put to the torture of the bull pen, then! Outside, the air was warm and the sunlight dazzling. Fred felt a surge of red-blooded life sweep him as his quivering nostrils drank in the pungent odors from the midsummer foliage. Waves of heat floated wraithlike from the yellow stubble, bathing the distant hills in an arid-blue haze. At convenient intervals clumps of dark-green trees threw contrasting patches of shade upon the tawny, sun-bleached sod. But Fred ignored their cool invitation. He always had hated hot weather with all his coast-bred soul, but to-day a hunger for warmth possessed him completely.