“No, nothing definite. I'm busy now anyway. Ask one of your own non-coms to find out about it.” He crouched once more over the papers. Andrews was walking towards the door, flushing with annoyance, when he saw that the man at the desk by the window was jerking his head in a peculiar manner, just in the direction of the regimental sergeant-major and then towards the door. Andrews smiled at him and nodded. Outside the door, where an orderly sat on a short bench reading a torn Saturday Evening Post, Andrews waited. The hall was part of what must have been a ballroom, for it had a much-scarred hardwood floor and big spaces of bare plaster framed by gilt-and lavender-colored mouldings, which had probably held tapestries. The partition of unplaned boards that formed other offices cut off the major part of a highly decorated ceiling where cupids with crimson-daubed bottoms swam in all attitudes in a sea of pink-and blue-and lavender-colored clouds, wreathing themselves coyly in heavy garlands of waxy hothouse flowers, while cornucopias spilling out squashy fruits gave Andrews a feeling of distinct insecurity as he looked up from below. “Say are you a Kappa Mu?” Andrews looked down suddenly and saw in front of him the man who had signalled to him in the regimental sergeant-major's office. “Are you a Kappa Mu?” he asked again. “No, not that I know of,” stammered Andrews puzzled. “What school did you go to?” “Harvard.” “Harvard.... Guess we haven't got a chapter there.... I'm from North Western. Anyway you want to go to school in France here if you can. So do I.” “Don't you want to come and have a drink?” The man frowned, pulled his overseas cap down over his forehead, where the hair grew very low, and looked about him mysteriously. “Yes,” he said. They splashed together down the muddy village street. “We've got thirteen minutes before tattoo.... My name's Walters, what's yours?” He spoke in a low voice in short staccato phrases. “Andrews.” “Andrews, you've got to keep this dark. If everybody finds out about it we're through. It's a shame you're not a Kappa Mu, but college men have got to stick together, that's the way I look at it.” “Oh, I'll keep it dark enough,” said Andrews. “It's too good to be true. The general order isn't out yet, but I've seen a preliminary circular. What school d'you want to go to?” “Sorbonne, Paris.” “That's the stuff. D'you know the back room at Baboon's?” Walters turned suddenly to the left up an alley, and broke through a hole in a hawthorn hedge. “A guy's got to keep his eyes and ears open if he wants to get anywhere in this army,” he said. As they ducked in the back door of a cottage, Andrews caught a glimpse of the billowy line of a tile roof against the lighter darkness of the sky. They sat down on a bench built into a chimney where a few sticks made a splutter of flames. “Monsieur desire?” A red-faced girl with a baby in her arms came up to them.