“Tell me about it, buddy. I don't feel my hand so much when I'm talking to somebody.... I'd be home now if it wasn't for a gin mill in Alsace. Say, don't ye think that big headgear they sport up there is awful good looking? Got my goat every time I saw one.... I was comin' back from leave at Grenoble, an' I went through Strasburg. Some town. My outfit was in Coblenz. That's where I met up with Chris here. Anyway, we was raisin' hell round Strasburg, an' I went into a gin mill down a flight of steps. Gee, everything in that town's plumb picturesque, just like a kid I used to know at home whose folks were Eytalian used to talk about when he said how he wanted to come overseas. Well, I met up with a girl down there, who said she'd just come down to a place like that to look for her brother who was in the foreign legion.” Andrews and Chrisfield laughed. “What you laughin' at?” went on Al in an eager taut voice. “Honest to Gawd. I'm goin' to marry her if I ever get out of this. She's the best little girl I ever met up with. She was waitress in a restaurant, an' when she was off duty she used to wear that there Alsatian costume.... Hell, I just stayed on. Every day, I thought I'd go away the next day.... Anyway, the war was over. I warn't a damn bit of use.... Hasn't a fellow got any rights at all? Then the M.P.'s started cleanin' up Strasburg after A.W.O.L.'s, an' I beat it out of there, an' Christ, it don't look as if I'd ever be able to get back.” “Say, Andy,” said Chrisfield, suddenly, “let's go down after some booze.” “All right.” “Say, Al, do you want me to get you anything at the drug store?” “No. I won't do anythin' but lay low and bathe it with alcohol now and then, against infection. Anyways, it's the first of May. You'll be crazy to go out. You might get pulled. They say there's riots going on.” “Gosh, I forgot it was the first of May,” cried Andrews. “They're running a general strike to protest against the war with Russia and....” “A guy told me,” interrupted Al, in a shrill voice, “there might be a revolution.” “Come along, Andy,” said Chris from the door. On the stairs Andrews felt Chrisfield's hand squeezing his arm hard. “Say, Andy,” Chris put his lips close to Andrews's ear and spoke in a rasping whisper. “You're the only one that knows... you know what. You an' that sergeant. Doan you say anythin' so that the guys here kin ketch on, d'ye hear?” “All right, Chris, I won't, but man alive, you oughtn't to lose your nerve about it. You aren't the only one who ever shot an...” “Shut yer face, d'ye hear?” muttered Chrisfield savagely. They went down the stairs in silence. In the room next, to the bar they found the Chink reading a newspaper. “Is he French?” whispered Andrews. “Ah doan know what he is. He ain't a white man, Ah'll wager that,” said Chris, “but he's square.” “D'you know anything about what's going on?” asked Andrews in French, going up to the Chink.