"The poor boobs," said Spider, and spat, and laughed. The company passed on down the street--vanished. Grand Avenue went its way. A little silence fell upon the street-corner group. Bing was the first to speak. "They won't git me in this draft. I got a mother an' two kid sisters to support." "Yeh, a swell lot of supportin' you do!" "Who says I don't! I can prove it." "They'll get me all right," said Casey. "I ain't kickin'." "I'm under age," from Red. Spider said nothing. His furtive eyes darted here and there. Spider was of age. And Spider had no family to support. But Spider had reason to know that no examining board would pass him into the army of his country. And it was a reason of which one did not speak. "You're only twenty, ain't you, Buzz?" he asked, to cover the gap in the conversation. "Yeh." Silence fell again. Then, "But I wouldn't mind goin'. Anything for a change. This place makes me sick." Spider laughed. "You better be a hero and go and enlist." Buzz's head came up with a jerk. "Je's, I never thought of that!" Red struck an attitude, one hand on his breast. "Now's your chanct, Buzz, to save your country an' your flag. Enlistment office's right over the Golden Eagle clothing store. Step up. Don't crowd gents! This way!" Buzz was staring at him, open-mouthed. His gaze was fixed, tense. Suddenly he seemed to gather all his muscles together as for a spring. But he only threw his cigarette into the gutter, yawned elaborately, and moved away. "S'long," he said; and lounged off. The others looked after him a moment, puzzled, speculative. Buzz was not usually so laconic. But evidently he was leaving with no further speech. "I guess maybe he ain't so dead sure that Hatton bunch won't git him for this, anyway," Casey said. Then, raising his voice: "Goin' home, Buzz?" "Yeh." But he did not. If they had watched him they would have seen him change his lounging gait when he reached the corner. They would have seen him stand a moment, sending a quick glance this way and that, then turn, retrace his steps almost at a run, and dart into the doorway that led to the flight of wooden stairs at the side of the Golden Eagle clothing store. A dingy room. A man at a bare table. Another seated at the window, his chair tipped back, his feet on the sill, a pipe between his teeth. Buzz, shambling, suddenly awkward, stood in the door. "This the place where you enlist?" The man at the table stood up. The chair in front of the open window came down on all-fours. "Sure," said the first man. "What's your name?" Buzz told him. "Meet Sergeant Keith. He's a Canadian. Been through the whole game." Five minutes later Buzz's fine white torso rose above his trousers like a great pillar. Unconsciously his sagging shoulders had straightened. His stomach was held in. His chest jutted, shelf-like. His ribs showed through the pink-white flesh.