At one place they flattened themselves against the wet flap of a tent and saluted as an officer passed waving a little cane jauntily. “How long does a fellow usually stay in these rest camps?” asked Fuselli. “Depends on what's goin' on out there,” said Tub, pointing carelessly to the sky beyond the peaks of the tents. “You'll leave here soon enough. Don't you worry, buddy,” said the man with the nervous voice. “What you in?” “Medical Replacement Unit.” “A medic are you? Those boys didn't last long at the Chateau, did they, Tub?” “No, they didn't.” Something inside Fuselli was protesting; “I'll last out though. I'll last out though.” “Do you remember the fellers went out to get poor ole Corporal Jones, Tub? I'll be goddamned if anybody ever found a button of their pants.” He laughed his creaky little laugh. “They got in the way of a torpedo.” The “wet” canteen was full of smoke and a cosy steam of beer. It was crowded with red-faced men, with shiny brass buttons on their khaki uniforms, among whom was a good sprinkling of lanky Americans. “Tommies,” said Fuselli to himself. After standing in line a while, Fuselli's cup was handed back to him across the counter, foaming with beer. “Hello, Fuselli,” Meadville clapped him on the shoulder. “You found the liquor pretty damn quick, looks like to me.” Fuselli laughed. “May I sit with you fellers?” “Sure, come along,” said Fuselli proudly, “these guys have been to the front.” “You have?” asked Meadville. “The Huns are pretty good scrappers, they say. Tell me, do you use your rifle much, or is it mostly big gun work?” “Naw; after all the months I spent learnin' how to drill with my goddam rifle, I'll be a sucker if I've used it once. I'm in the grenade squad.” Someone at the end of the room had started singing: “O Mademerselle from Armenteers, Parley voo!” The man with the nervous voice went on talking, while the song roared about them. “I don't spend a night without thinkin' o' them funny helmets the Fritzies wear. Have you ever thought that there was something goddam funny about the shape o' them helmets?” “Can the helmets, kid,” said his friend. “You told us all about them onct.” “I ain't told you why I can't forgit 'em, have I?” “A German officer crossed the Rhine; Parley voo? A German officer crossed the Rhine; He loved the women and liked the wine; Hanky Panky, parley voo.... ” “Listen to this, fellers,” said the man in his twitching nervous voice, staring straight into Fuselli's eyes. “We made a little attack to straighten out our trenches a bit just before I got winged. Our barrage cut off a bit of Fritzie's trench an' we ran right ahead juss about dawn an' occupied it. I'll be goddamned if it wasn't as quiet as a Sunday morning at home.” “It was!” said his friend.