He snatched the rope and then began another demonstration for the mortified youth; Kennedy could not have been more hurt if he had been lashed with it. The whistle blew; the order, “Fall in!” was shouted at the head of the street. “Quick, now! Do up your pack!” Wheeler tossed back the rope, and Kennedy made a dive into the tent where his equipment lay scattered. Hastily cramming things together, he discovered when he had his pack rolled up and fastened that he had left out the rubber poncho. In the street the men were all lined up at attention; he alone was unready. The first sergeant was calling the roll; the corporals were reporting: “Squad one?” “All present.” “Squad two?” “All present.” Kennedy flung on his pack and crammed his poncho under his mattress, where it would not be visible. “Squad five?” “Private Kennedy absent.” “Squad six?” “All present.” Kennedy fastened his canteen to his belt, caught up his rifle and took his place in the rear rank. He heard the corporals far down the line reporting, “All present.” He alone had been delinquent. Wheeler’s face seemed more forbidding than ever. And that was why, as the company marched out for the day’s work, Kennedy felt depressed. He was making a poor showing; he had won the outspoken disapproval of the man whose good opinion he most heartily desired. Besides, he was miserable in body; nose, eyes and throat were all inflamed, the pack seemed heavier than it ought to be, and there was no early-morning enthusiasm in his legs. A glance at Wheeler’s face still further depressed his spirits. He had never seen the corporal look so black, and he knew it was all on account of having such a “dub” in the squad! It was really not on that account at all. What was troubling the corporal was a sense of his severity toward a subordinate who seemed to be doing the best he could. He was chagrined that he had been so sharp-tongued with the little fellow; he had got into the habit of thinking of Kennedy rather pityingly as “the little fellow.” All the long morning B Company was put through skirmish drill; the sun was hot, the air heavy; with all too brief intermissions the men were kept at work; running, leaping, casting themselves on their faces, and pulling the trigger and throwing the bolt of their rifles. Lying prone, with neck and shoulder muscles aching under the weight of the pack, Kennedy experienced the greatest discomfort, for then his nose became an abomination to him. And at those times, snuffling, coughing and gasping, he was painfully aware that to the other members of the squad, and particularly to the corporal, he must seem nothing less than a curse.