His
eyes remained on Anthony, who meanwhile sat down and unbuttoned the
uniform coat issued him at Camp Upton the day before. It chafed him
under the arms.
Before Anthony could scrutinize the other occupants of the section a
young second lieutenant blew in at the upper end of the car and wafted
airily down the aisle, announcing in a voice of appalling acerbity:
"There will be no smoking in this car! No smoking! Don't smoke, men, in
this car!"
As he sailed out at the other end a dozen little clouds of expostulation
arose on all sides.
"Oh, cripe!"
"Jeese!"
"No _smokin'_?"
"Hey, come back here, fella!"
"What's 'ee idea?"
Two or three cigarettes were shot out through the open windows. Others
were retained inside, though kept sketchily away from view. From here
and there in accents of bravado, of mockery, of submissive humor, a few
remarks were dropped that soon melted into the listless and
pervasive silence.
The fourth occupant of Anthony's section spoke up suddenly.
"G'by, liberty," he said sullenly. "G'by, everything except bein' an
officer's dog."
Anthony looked at him. He was a tall Irishman with an expression moulded
of indifference and utter disdain.
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