Fuselli stood still with his fists clenched. The blood flamed through his head, making his scalp tingle. Still the top sergeant was the top sergeant, came the thought. It would never do to get in wrong with him. Fuselli's legs moved him automatically back into a corner of the court, where he leaned against the damp wall; glaring with smarting eyes at the two women who stood talking outside the kitchen door, and at the dark shadow behind the hogshead. At last, after several smacking kisses, the women went away and the kitchen door closed. The bell in the church spire struck eleven slowly and mournfully. When it had ceased striking, Fuselli heard a discreet tapping and saw the shadow of the top sergeant against the door. As he slipped in, Fuselli heard the top sergeant's good-natured voice in a large stage whisper, followed by a choked laugh from Yvonne. The door closed and the light was extinguished, leaving the court in darkness except for a faint marbled glow in the sky. Fuselli strode out, making as much noise as he could with his heels on the cobble stones. The streets of the town were silent under the pale moon. In the square the fountain sounded loud and metallic. He gave up his pass to the guard and strode glumly towards the barracks. At the door he met a man with a pack on his back. “Hullo, Fuselli,” said a voice he knew. “Is my old bunk still there?” “Damned if I know,” said Fuselli; “I thought they'd shipped you home.” The corporal who had been on the Red Sox outfield broke into a fit of coughing. “Hell, no,” he said. “They kep' me at that goddam hospital till they saw I wasn't goin' to die right away, an' then they told me to come back to my outfit. So here I am!” “Did they bust you?” said Fuselli with sudden eagerness. “Hell, no. Why should they? They ain't gone and got a new corporal, have they?” “No, not exactly,” said Fuselli. V Meadville stood near the camp gate, watching the motor trucks go by on the main road. Grey, lumbering, and mud-covered, they throbbed by sloughing in and out of the mud holes in the worn road in an endless train stretching as far as he could see into the town and as far as he could see up the road. He stood with his legs far apart and spat into the center of the road; then he turned to the corporal who had been in the Red Sox outfield and said: “I'll be goddamed if there ain't somethin' doin'!” “A hell of a lot doin',” said the corporal, shaking his head. “Seen that guy Daniels who's been to the front?” “No.” “Well, he says hell's broke loose. Hell's broke loose!” “What's happened?... Be gorry, we may see some active service,” said Meadville, grinning. “By God, I'd give the best colt on my ranch to see some action.” “Got a ranch?” asked the corporal. The motor trucks kept on grinding past monotonously; their drivers were so splashed with mud it was hard to see what uniform they wore. “What d'ye think?” asked Meadville. “Think I keep store?”