“What d'you mean, this labor battalion? Hell, a feller can put up with anything; that's one thing you learn in the army.” “I guess people would rather put up with things than make an effort to change them.” “You're goddam right. Got a butt?” Andrews handed him a cigarette. They got to their feet and walked out into the twilight, holding their mess kits in front of them. As they were washing their mess kits in a tub of greasy water, where bits of food floated in a thick scum, Hoggenback suddenly said in a low voice: “But it all piles up, Buddy; some day there'll be an accountin'. D'you believe in religion?” “No.” “Neither do I. I come of folks as done their own accountin'. My father an' my gran'father before him. A feller can't eat his bile day after day, day after day.” “I'm afraid he can, Hoggenback,” broke in Andrews. They walked towards the barracks. “Goddam it, no,” cried Hoggenback aloud. “There comes a point where you can't eat yer bile any more, where it don't do no good to cuss. Then you runs amuck.” Hanging his head he went slowly into the barracks. Andrews leaned against the outside of the building, staring up at the sky. He was trying desperately to think, to pull together a few threads of his life in this moment of respite from the nightmare. In five minutes the bugle would din in his ears, and he would be driven into the barracks. A tune came to his head that he played with eagerly for a moment, and then, as memory came to him, tried to efface with a shudder of disgust. “There's the smile that makes you happy, There's the smile that makes you sad.” It was almost dark. Two men walked slowly by in front of him. “Sarge, may I speak to you?” came a voice in a whisper. The sergeant grunted. “I think there's two guys trying to break loose out of here.” “Who? If you're wrong it'll be the worse for you, remember that.” “Surley an' Watson. I heard 'em talkin' about it behind the latrine.” “Damn fools.” “They was sayin' they'd rather be dead than keep up this life.” “They did, did they?” “Don't talk so loud, Sarge. It wouldn't do for any of the fellers to know I was talkin' to yer. Say, Sarge...” the voice became whining, “don't you think I've nearly served my time down here?” “What do I know about that? 'Tain't my job.” “But, Sarge, I used to be company clerk with my old outfit. Don't ye need a guy round the office?” Andrews strode past them into the barracks. Dull fury possessed him. He took off his clothes and got silently into his blankets. Hoggenback and Happy were talking beside his bunk. “Never you mind,” said Hoggenback, “somebody'll get that guy sooner or later.” “Git him, nauthin'! The fellers in that camp was so damn skeered they jumped if you snapped yer fingers at 'em. It's the discipline. I'm tellin' yer, it gits a feller in the end,” said Happy. Andrews lay without speaking, listening to their talk, aching in every muscle from the crushing work of the day.