The young recruit's mistake lay in pretending to know a lot more than he really did know. He had been put through the unmerciful hazing that always awaits a very "fresh" rookie, or recruit, but even that had taught him little. Private Green was always looking for the chance to prove to his new comrades among the regulars of the Thirty-fourth that he knew something after all. This afternoon his trouble had taken the form of trying to find something in a two-days' old newspaper on which he could discourse for the enlightenment of the other men. "I see by the paper," continued Private William Green, as soon as his tormentors would let him proceed, "that we of the United States are now manufacturing the biggest and finest guns in the world." "Meaning cannon?" quizzed Private Hyman innocently. "Sure," nodded Private William Green. "Take that over to the red sheds," jeered one soldier. "What do we of the infantry care about the red legs and their troubles?" demanded Hyman, as though affronted. For the "doughboys," or infantrymen, of the regular Army, affect supreme scorn for all other arms of the service. In especial do they profess contempt for the artillerymen, or red legs, this latter epithet being derived from the fact that red is the artillery color, and that the officers and non-commissioned officers of the artillery wear red side stripes on their trousers. "But think what it means to this country," insisted Private William Green, "when we manufacture the biggest guns in the world." "And we have also the loudest-mouthed and noisiest members in the peace societies," remarked Private Hal Overton, laughingly. "What have peace-spouters got to do with big guns?" demanded Private William Green rather stiffly. "Why, you see," explained Hal, "the peace advocates look for the millennium." "The mill--what kind of mill?" inquired Green, with unlooked-for interest, for Private Willie had been employed in a grist mill before enlisting. "The mil-len-nium," explained Private Overton patiently, though with a twinkle in his eyes. "Never heard of that mill," replied Private Green rather disdainfully. "What's it for?" "Why, you see, Greenie--pardon me, I mean Willie," continued Hal Overton, while the other soldiers in the squad room, scenting fun, remained silent, "it's like this: The millennium is the age that may come some time. The peace-spouters tell us that the millennium is coming in two weeks from autumn. That millennium is the age when all war will be abolished and soldiers will have to go to work." "What's all that got to do with what I was talking about?" demanded Private Green, bewildered and half offended. "Wait, and Overton will tell you," warned Hal's chum, Noll Terry, who stood by looking decidedly trim and handsome in his spotless khaki uniform. "Of course you know all about Armageddon?" resumed Hal.