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He put his hand on Stockton's shoulder. The boy winced and drew his chair away. "What for you do that? I ain't goin' to hurt you," said Eisenstein. Fuselli looked at them both with a disgusted interest. "I'll tell you what you'd better do, kid," he said condescendingly. "You get transferred to our company. It's an Al bunch, ain't it, Eisenstein?
The cans of bully beef flew under his fingers. He kept looking out of the corner of his eye at Eisenstein, who seemed very skilful in a careless way. The top sergeant stood beaming at them with his legs wide apart. Once he said something in a low voice to the corporal. Fuselli thought he caught the words: "privates first-class," and his heart started thumping hard.
We'll see how you like your medicine," said Eisenstein. "Damn fool," muttered Fuselli, composing himself to sleep again. The bugle wrenched Fuselli out of his blankets, half dead with sleep. "Say, Bill, I got a head again," he muttered. There was no answer. It was only then that he noticed that the cot next to his was empty. The blankets were folded neatly at the foot. Sudden panic seized him.
"Fuselli, Grey, Eisenstein, Meadville, Williams...all right, come along." "Say, Sarge, this guy says that frog trains are faster than our trains. What d'ye think o' that?" The sergeant put on his comic expression. Everybody got ready to laugh. "Well, if he'd rather take the side-door Pullmans we're going to get aboard tonight than the 'Sunset Limited, he's welcome. I've seen 'em.
Ye've got to be hard boiled to git on in this army." "Ye're goddam right," said the tall youth. "Don't let 'em ride yer.... What's yer name, rookie?" "Eisenstein." "This feller's name's Powers.... Bill Powers. Mine's Fuselli.... Goin' to the movies, Mr. Eisenstein?" "No, I'm trying to find a skirt." The little man leered wanly. "Glad to have got ackwainted."
Meadville got to his feet and went unsteadily to the rail, keeping, as he threaded his way through the groups that covered the transport's after deck, a little of his cowboy's bow- legged stride. "I know what it is that makes men's eyes blink when they go down to that putrid mess," came a nasal voice. Fuselli turned round. Eisenstein was sitting in the place Meadville had just left.
Anyway they were going to appoint an acting corporal. He stared at the flickering little light in the ceiling. "How did you get a pass?" Eisenstein was asking. "Oh, the sergeant fixed me up with one," answered Fuselli mysteriously. "You're in pretty good with the sergeant, ain't yer?" said Eisenstein. Fuselli smiled deprecatingly. "Say, d'ye know that little kid Stockton?"
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