“Hum, well.... You'll look at things differently when you have,” said the major. The lieutenant frowned. “Well, on the whole, lieutenant, your outfit is in very good shape.... At ease, men!” The lieutenant and the major stood at the door a moment raising the collars of their coats; then they dove out into the rain. A few minutes later the sergeant came in. “All right, get your slickers on and line up.” They stood lined up in the rain for a long while. It was a leaden afternoon. The even clouds had a faint coppery tinge. The rain beat in their faces, making them tingle. Fuselli was looking anxiously at the sergeant. At last the lieutenant appeared. “Attention!” cried the sergeant. The roll was called and a new man fell in at the end of the line, a tall man with large protruding eyes like a calf's. “Private 1st-class Daniel Fuselli, fall out and report to headquarters company!” Fuselli saw a look of surprise come over men's faces. He smiled wanly at Meadville. “Sergeant, take the men down to the station.” “Squads, right,” cried the sergeant. “March!” The company tramped off into the streaming rain. Fuselli went back to the barracks, took off his pack and slicker and wiped the water off his face. The rails gleamed gold in the early morning sunshine above the deep purple cinders of the track. Fuselli's eyes followed the track until it curved into a cutting where the wet clay was a bright orange in the clear light. The station platform, where puddles from the night's rain glittered as the wind ruffled them, was empty. Fuselli started walking up and down with his hands in his pockets. He had been sent down to unload some supplies that were coming on that morning's train. He felt free and successful since he joined the headquarters company! At last, he told himself, he had a job where he could show what he was good for. He walked up and down whistling shrilly. A train pulled slowly into the station. The engine stopped to take water and the couplings clanked all down the line of cars. The platform was suddenly full of men in khaki, stamping their feet, running up and down shouting. “Where you guys goin'?” asked Fuselli. “We're bound for Palm Beach. Don't we look it?” someone snarled in reply. But Fuselli had seen a familiar face. He was shaking hands with two browned men whose faces were grimy with days of travelling in freight cars. “Hullo, Chrisfield. Hullo, Andrews!” he cried. “When did you fellows get over here?” “Oh, 'bout four months ago,” said Chrisfield, whose black eyes looked at Fuselli searchingly. “Oh! Ah 'member you. You're Fuselli. We was at trainin' camp together. 'Member him, Andy?” “Sure,” said Andrews. “How are you makin' out?” “Fine,” said Fuselli. “I'm in the optical department here.” “Where the hell's that?” “Right here.” Fuselli pointed vaguely behind the station. “We've been training about four months near Bordeaux,” said Andrews; “and now we're going to see what it's like.”