“Ah been out a couple o' weeks. Ah'll tell you about it, Andy. Ah was comin' to see you now. Ah'm broke.” “Well look, I'll be able to get hold of some money tomorrow.... I'm out too.” “What d'ye mean?” “I haven't got a discharge. I'm through with it all. I've deserted.” “God damn! That's funny that you an' me should both do it, Andy. But why the hell did you do it?” “Oh, it's too long to tell here. Come up to my room.” “There may be fellers there. Ever been at the Chink's?” “No.” “I'm stayin' there. There're other fellers who's A.W. O.L. too. The Chink's got a gin mill.” “Where is it.” “Eight, rew day Petee Jardings.” “Where's that?” “Way back of that garden where the animals are.” “Look, I can find you there tomorrow morning, and I'll bring some money.” “Ah'll wait for ye, Andy, at nine. It's a bar. Ye won't be able to git in without me, the kids is pretty scared of plainclothes men.” “I think it'll be perfectly safe to come up to my place now.” “Now, Ah'm goin' to git the hell out of here.” “But Chris, why did you go A.W.O.L.?” “Oh, Ah doan know.... A guy who's in the Paris detachment got yer address for me.” “But, Chris, did they say anything to him about me?” “No, nauthin'.” “That's funny.... Well, Chris, I'll be there tomorrow, if I can find the place.” “Man, you've got to be there.” “Oh, I'll turn up,” said Andrews with a smile. They shook hands nervously. “Say, Andy,” said Chrisfield, still holding on to Andrews's hand, “Ah went A.W.O.L. 'cause a sergeant...God damn it; it's weighin' on ma mind awful these days.... There's a sergeant that knows.” “What you mean?” “Ah told ye about Anderson...Ah know you ain't tole anybody, Andy.” Chrisfield dropped Andrews's hand and looked at him in the face with an unexpected sideways glance. Then he went on through clenched teeth: “Ah swear to Gawd Ah ain't tole another livin' soul.... An' the sergeant in Company D knows.” “For God's sake, Chris, don't lose your nerve like that.” “Ah ain't lost ma nerve. Ah tell you that guy knows.” Chrisfield's voice rose, suddenly shrill. “Look, Chris, we can't stand talking out here in the street like this. It isn't safe.” “But mebbe you'll be able to tell me what to do. You think, Andy. Mebbe, tomorrow, you'll have thought up somethin' we can do...So long.” Chrisfield walked away hurriedly. Andrews looked after him a moment, and then went in through the court to the house where his room was. At the foot of the stairs an old woman's voice startled him. “Mais, Monsieur Andre, que vous avez l'air etrange; how funny you look dressed like that.” The concierge was smiling at him from her cubbyhole beside the stairs. She sat knitting with a black shawl round her head, a tiny old woman with a hooked bird-like nose and eyes sunk in depressions full of little wrinkles, like a monkey's eyes. “Yes, at the town where I was demobilized, I couldn't get anything else,” stammered Andrews.