"Bixton, sir. What happened last night was not my fault, sir," returned Bixton, almost defiantly. "A little after eleven o'clock I woke up and found I was thirsty. I left my cot to get a drink of water. I crossed the room as quiet as I could, and started down the squad room. I stumbled a little in the dark and stopped for a minute. Next thing I knew a man had jumped on me and was trying to hit me. It surprised me so I yelled right out. He kept on hitting me, so I had to defend myself and----" "That is no the trut'," came the angry contradiction. Ignace glared righteous indignation at his traducer. "Never I----" "Silence!" thundered the K. O. "Don't you dare speak until you're told to talk!" "'Scuse," muttered Ignace, too utterly abashed by the rebuke to be soldier-like. "You state," the Major resumed his inquiry, "that this man here attacked you last night in the dark without cause?" "Yes, sir." "Humph! Have you ever before had any trouble with him?" "Once before, sir." A baleful gleam of triumph shot into the man's pale eyes. "When and where? Tell me about it." "One day quite a while ago he was talking loud in barracks when I was trying to rest. I asked him to stop it, and he wouldn't pay any attention. Then I asked him again to stop making so much noise, and he jumped on me just the same as he did last night. He got me down and would have half-killed me if one of the fellows he runs with hadn't come in and pulled him off. As soon as I knew last night who was fighting me I wasn't surprised any more. I knew he'd been laying for me and so----" "That will do." The major cut him off sharply. Fixing a severe glance on Sergeant Dexter he asked, "Why didn't you make a report of this first fight between these two men?" "I knew nothing about it," was the chagrined answer. "I was certainly _not_ in the barrack when it occurred." "Humph!" came the dry repetition. "You seem to be hunting for trouble, my man," was the commanding officer's grim opinion, as he looked poor Ignace sternly over. "If you've anything to say, I'll hear it." The tone indicated that more than enough had already been said. "What's your name? Speak up." Ignace drew a deep, sighing breath. Raising his head with a proud little air, which he had unconsciously borrowed from Jimmy, he said, with slow dignity: "I am one a Pole, Ignace Pulinski, sir. I am no the liar, sir. Now say I the trut' all. You no believe, I can no help." Quite unemotionally, and with frequent groping for a word that eluded him, Ignace proceeded in his broken speech to give a detailed account of Bixton's repeated churlish conduct toward himself since he had first encountered him in Company E's barrack. Neither did the K. O. interrupt him, but allowed him to go on talking, his keen eyes never leaving the Polish boy's stolid face.