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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Ain't no harm in havin' a little fun. Don't mean nothin'," he said aloud. "You just wait till we hit France. We'll hit it up some with the Madimerzels, won't we, kid?" said Bill Grey, slapping Fuselli on the knee. "Beautiful Katy, Ki-Ki-Katy, You're the only gugugu-girl that I adore; And when the mo-moon shines Over the cowshed, I'll be waiting at the ki-ki-ki-kitchen door."
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.
They straggled off into the darkness towards one of the lights, their feet splashing confusedly in the puddles. Fuselli strolled up to the sentry at the camp gate. He was picking his teeth meditatively with the splinter of a pine board. "Say, Phil, you couldn't lend me a half a dollar, could you?"
He opened it a little, peeked in; winked elaborately to his friends and skipped into the other room, closing the door carefully behind him. The corporal went over next. He said, "Well, I'll be damned," and walked straight in, leaving the door ajar. In a moment it was closed from the inside. "Come on, Bill, let's see what the hell they got in there," said Fuselli.
That's damned rough luck, Fuselli." "Cosne sure is a hell of a hole.... I guess you saw a lot of fighting. God! you must have been glad not to be in the goddam medics." "I don't know that I'm glad I saw fighting.... Oh, yes, I suppose I am." "You see, I had it a hell of a time before they found out.
The cars clanged one against the other all down the train. Fuselli was looking into a pair of eyes that shone in the lamplight; a hand was held out to him. "So long, kid," said a boyish voice. "I don't know who the hell you are, but so long; good luck." "So long," stammered Fuselli. "Going to the front?" "Yer goddam right," answered another voice.
The man had added fervently, "It must be grand, just grand, to feel the danger, the chance of being potted any minute. Good luck, young feller.... Good luck." Fuselli remembered unpleasantly his paper-white face and the greenish look of his bald head; but the words had made him stride out of the office sticking out his chest, brushing truculently past a group of men in the door.
The light from the courtyard had a greenish tinge that made their faces look pale and dead, like the faces of men that have long been shut up between damp prison walls. "And Fuselli had a girl named Mabe," said Andrews. "Oh, she married a guy in the Naval Reserve. They had a grand wedding," said Al. "At last I've got to you!"
Fuselli pillowed his head in the crook of someone's arm and tried to go to sleep, but the scraping rumble of wheels over rails was too loud; he stayed with open eyes staring into the blackness, trying to draw his body away from the blast of cold air that blew up through a crack in the floor.
The whistle blew and the engine started puffing hard. Clouds of white steam filled the station platform, where the soldiers scampered for their cars. "Good luck!" said Fuselli; but Andrews and Chrisfield had already gone. He saw them again as the train pulled out, two brown and dirt-grimed faces among many other brown and dirt-grimed faces.
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