“Now you men can do what you please. Only don’t break anything. We are going to stay here until somebody comes for us. There ought to be plenty of food around, and you ought to know what to do.” There was plenty of food. Young pullets stalked temptingly before them, and young Higgins, who heretofore had never distinguished himself in any way, developed an uncanny aptitude of snaring them with a swoop of his left arm, clutching them neatly by the leg. Nearly all of the cellars were stored with potatoes, and wine was not uncommon. Into a château which presumably belonged to the overlord of the village the party carried their food. The pullets had been prepared for frying, potatoes were sizzling in a large kettle of grease, a table had been laid with a crisp linen cloth. The party was seated around a large table. Upon the linen cloth were china plates and silver knives and forks. In the centre were dishes piled high with fried chicken and potatoes. A salad brightened the menu. Wine-glasses and tumblers were filled and dust-covered bottles stood near at hand, ready to replenish them. “This is what you might call the life of Riley.” Sergeant Ryan spoke with his soft voice that almost broke into a chuckle. “I’ll tell the world. Jist like New York.” “Gittin’ lost ain’t hard to take. Jist think of the rest of the outfit, snappin’ into it whenever Harriman opens his yap.” The glasses were emptied and refilled. It was a religious ceremony. “Now if some of them dames we seen at Meaux was up here.” Suddenly Hicks started to laugh, long and loudly. “What you laughin’ at? Is there anything funny in my wantin’ a little company? ’Course these Frog gals ain’t as nice as....” “No, no. It wasn’t that at all. But we were going to save these people’s homes—and now we’re killing their chickens.” “You can’t be so damned finicky. This is war.” “He’s right, Hicks.” Bullis nodded sagely. “If we didn’t get it the Squareheads would.” The party, all but Ryan, tilted back in their chairs, their tunics unbuttoned and their belts unfastened. Their eyes having proved larger than their appetites, much of the food remained on the table untouched. But there was room in their bellies for wine, and bottle after bottle was opened and emptied. “There,” said Bullis, pointing to an empty bottle, “is a good soldier. He has done his duty and he is willing to do it again.” Foolishly, the men raised their hands to their forehead in a gesture of homage. VII They lurched out into the street. The day was hot and still, and the men, exhilarated by the wine and satiated with the food, were planning for other banquets as sumptuous. Around the corner of the crooked street marched an orderly, wearing his inevitable look of having the responsibility of the war on his shoulders. “Are you men from C Company of the Sixth?” “You’re damned right we are, buddy. Have you got anything to say about it?”