“Shut up, you fool,” said Andy, drawing Chrisfield away. The company scattered sullenly. Some of the men lay down in the long uncut grass in the shade of the ruins of the house, one of the walls of which made a wall of the shanty where they lived. Andrews and Chrisfield strolled in silence down the road, kicking their feet into the deep dust. Chrisfield was limping. On both sides of the road were fields of ripe wheat, golden under the sun. In the distance were low green hills fading to blue, pale yellow in patches with the ripe grain. Here and there a thick clump of trees or a screen of poplars broke the flatness of the long smooth hills. In the hedgerows were blue cornflowers and poppies in all colors from carmine to orange that danced in the wind on their wiry stalks. At the turn in the road they lost the noise of the division and could hear the bees droning in the big dull purple cloverheads and in the gold hearts of the daisies. “You're a wild man, Chris. What the hell came over you to try an' smash poor old Judkie's jaw? He could lick you anyway. He's twice as heavy as you are.” Chrisfield walked on in silence. “God, I should think you'ld have had enough of that sort of thing.... I should think you'ld be sick of wanting to hurt people. You don't like pain yourself, do you?” Andrews spoke in spurts, bitterly, his eyes on the ground. “Ah think Ah sprained ma goddam ankle when Ah tumbled off the back o' the truck yesterday.” “Better go on sick call.... Say, Chris, I'm sick of this business.... Almost like you'd rather shoot yourself than keep on.” “Ah guess you're gettin' the dolefuls, Andy. Look... let's go in swimmin'. There's a lake down the road.” “I've got my soap in my pocket. We can wash a few cooties off.” “Don't walk so goddam fast...Andy, you got more learnin' than I have. You ought to be able to tell what it is makes a feller go crazy like that.... Ah guess Ah got a bit o' the devil in me.” Andrews was brushing the soft silk of a poppy petal against his face. “I wonder if it'ld have any effect if I ate some of these,” he said. “Why?” “They say you go to sleep if you lie down in a poppy-field. Wouldn't you like to do that, Chris, an' not wake up till the war was over and you could be a human being again.” Andrews bit into the green seed capsule he held in his hand. A milky juice came out. “It's bitter...I guess it's the opium,” he said. “What's that?” “A stuff that makes you go to sleep and have wonderful dreams. In China....” “Dreams,” interrupted Chrisfield. “Ah had one of them last night. Dreamed Ah saw a feller that had shot hisself that I saw one time reconnoitrin' out in the Bringy Wood.” “What was that?” “Nawthin', juss a Fritzie had shot hisself.” “Better than opium,” said Andrews, his voice trembling with sudden excitement. “Ah dreamed the flies buzzin' round him was aeroplanes.... Remember the last rest village?” “And the major who wouldn't close the window? You bet I do!”