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Updated: June 1, 2025
He found the number and knocked on the door. Laughter and loud talking came from inside the stateroom. "Wait a sec!" came an unfamiliar voice. "Sergeant Olster here?" "Oh, it's one o' my gang," came the sergeant's voice. "Let him in. He won't peach on us."
The door opened and he saw Sergeant Olster and two other young men sitting with their feet dangling over the red varnished boards that enclosed the bunks. They were talking gaily, and had glasses in their hands. "Paris is some town, I can tell you," one was saying. "They say the girls come up an' put their arms round you right in the main street."
In the corner sat Sergeant Olster with a flush on his face, and the corporal who had been on the Red Sox outfield and another sergeant, a big man with black hair and a black mustache. About them clustered, with approbation and respect in their faces, Fuselli, Bill Grey and Meadville the cowboy, and Earl Williams, the blue-eyed and yellow- haired drug-clerk.
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