They were washing their mess-kits in the tub of warm water thick with grease from the hundred mess-kits that had gone before, in front of the shack. An electric light illumined faintly the wet trunk of a plane tree and the surface of the water where bits of oatmeal floated and coffee grounds,--and the garbage pails with their painted signs: WET GARBAGE, DRY GARBAGE; and the line of men who stood waiting to reach the tub. “This hell of a life!” said Bill Grey, savagely. “What d'ye mean?” “Doin' nothin' but pack bandages in packin' cases and take bandages out of packin' cases. I'll go crazy. I've tried gettin' drunk; it don't do no good.” “Gee; I've got a head,” said Fuselli. Bill Grey put his heavy muscular hand round Fuselli's shoulder as they strolled towards the barracks. “Say, Dan, I'm goin' A. W. O. L.” “Don't ye do it, Bill. Hell, look at the chance we've got to get ahead. We can both of us get promoted if we don't get in wrong.” “I don't give a hoot in hell for all that.... What d'ye think I got in this goddamed army for? Because I thought I'd look nice in the uniform?” Bill Grey thrust his hands into his pockets and spat dismally in front of him. “But, Bill, you don't want to stay a buck private, do you?” “I want to get to the front.... I don't want to stay here till I get in the jug for being spiffed or get a court-martial.... Say, Dan, will you come with me?” “Hell, Bill, you ain't goin'. You're just kiddin', ain't yer? They'll send us there soon enough. I want to get to be a corporal,”--he puffed out his chest a little--“before I go to the front, so's to be able to show what I'm good for. See, Bill?” A bugle blew. “There's fatigue, an' I ain't done my bunk.” “Me neither.... They won't do nothin', Dan.... Don't let them ride yer, Dan.” They lined up in the dark road feeling the mud slopping under their feet. The ruts were full of black water, in which gleamed a reflection of distant electric lights. “All you fellows work in Storehouse A today,” said the sergeant, who had been a preacher, in his sad, drawling voice. “Lieutenant says that's all got to be finished by noon. They're sending it to the front today.” Somebody let his breath out in a whistle of surprise. “Who did that?” Nobody answered. “Dismissed!” snapped the sergeant disgustedly. They straggled off into the darkness towards one of the lights, their feet splashing confusedly in the puddles. Fuselli strolled up to the sentry at the camp gate. He was picking his teeth meditatively with the splinter of a pine board. “Say, Phil, you couldn't lend me a half a dollar, could you?” Fuselli stopped, put his hands in his pockets and looked at the sentry with the splinter sticking out of a corner of his mouth. “Sorry, Dan,” said the other man; “I'm cleaned out. Ain't had a cent since New Year's.” “Why the hell don't they pay us?” “You guys signed the pay roll yet?” “Sure. So long!”