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Updated: June 7, 2025
Andrews lay without speaking, listening to their talk, aching in every muscle from the crushing work of the day. "They court-martialled that guy, a feller told me," went on Hoggenback. "An' what d'ye think they did to him? Retired on half pay. He was a major." "Gawd, if I iver git out o' this army, I'll be so goddam glad," began Happy.
But he had to hurry desperately to get his clothes on in time for roll call. It was with a feeling of relief that he found that mess was not ready, and that men were waiting in line outside the kitchen shack, stamping their feet and clattering their mess kits as they moved about through the chilly twilight of the spring morning. Andrews found he was standing behind Hoggenback.
"I'll be dead if they do," muttered Hoggenback. "An' you a lumberjack!" "It ain't that. I could carry their bloody bags two at a time if I wanted ter. A feller gets so goddam mad, that's all; so goddam mad. Don't he, Skinny?" Hoggenback turned to Andrews and smiled. Andrews nodded his head.
That's where they picked us up. Took us to the Bastille. Ever been in the Bastille?" "I have," said Hoggenback. "Ain't no joke, is it?" "Christ!" said Hoggenback. His face flushed a furious red.
"Listen to that bastard, ain't he juss too sweet for pie when there's company?" muttered Hoggenback on his way from the barge with a bag of cement. The Kid brushed past Andrews without looking at him. "Do what I do, Skinny," he said. Andrews did not turn round, but his heart started thumping very fast. A dull sort of terror took possession of him.
As they were washing their mess kits in a tub of greasy water, where bits of food floated in a thick scum, Hoggenback suddenly said in a low voice: "But it all piles up, Buddy; some day there'll be an accountin'. D'you believe in religion?" "No." "Neither do I. I come of folks as done their own accountin'. My father an' my gran'father before him.
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