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Updated: May 9, 2025
"But mebbe you'll be able to tell me what to do. You think, Andy. Mebbe, tomorrow, you'll have thought up somethin' we can do...So long." Chrisfield walked away hurriedly. Andrews looked after him a moment, and then went in through the court to the house where his room was. At the foot of the stairs an old woman's voice startled him.
When he followed Chrisfield into the room, Andrews saw a man sitting on the window ledge smoking. He was dressed as a second lieutenant, his puttees were brilliantly polished, and he smoked through a long, amber cigarette-holder. His pink nails were carefully manicured. "This is Slippery, Andy," said Chrisfield. "This guy's an ole buddy o' mine.
"Looks to me all right here," said the other man, lying down on the grass in the sun. The leaves rustled underfoot as Chrisfield strode through the wood. He was frightened by being alone. He walked ahead as fast as he could, his puttee still dragging behind him. He came to a barbed-wire entanglement half embedded in fallen beech leaves.
It was with relief that he felt that he would never see the hospital again or any of the people in it. He thought of Chrisfield. It was weeks and weeks since Chrisfield had come to his mind at all. Now it was with a sudden clench of affection that the Indiana boy's face rose up before him.
"Outside, in the streets, in Paris, anywhere where people are out in the open and can do things. What do you think about the revolution?" The Chink shrugged his shoulders. "Anything's possible," he said. "D'you think they really can overthrow the army and the government in one day, like that?" "Who?" broke in Chrisfield.
Chrisfield glanced suddenly at Anderson, who sat in the grass at the back of the house, looking out over the wheat fields, while the smoke of a cigarette rose in spirals about his face and his fair hair. He looked peaceful, almost happy. Chrisfield clenched his fists and felt the hatred of that other man rising stingingly within him. "Guess Ah got a bit of the devil in me," he thought.
They heard the steps come nearer, wander about irresolutely and then go off in the direction from which they had come. Meanwhile the throb of motors overhead grew louder and louder. "Well?" came the officer's voice. "Couldn't find them, sir," mumbled the other voice. "Nonsense. Those men were drunk," came the officer's voice. "Yes, sir," came the other voice humbly. Chrisfield started to giggle.
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.
Chrisfield marched with his fists clenched; he wanted to fight somebody, to run his bayonet into a man as he ran it into the dummy in that everlasting bayonet drill, he wanted to strip himself naked, to squeeze the wrists of a girl until she screamed.
An' a guy I talked to under the bridge where I slep' last night said a guy'd tole him they were goin' to clean the A. W. O. L.'s out o' Paris if they had to search through every house in the place." "If they come here they'll git somethin' they ain't lookin' for," muttered Chrisfield. "I'm goin' down to Nice; getting too hot around here," said Slippery. "I've got travel orders in my pocket now."
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