In mid-July came rumors, and then orders, that concerned a change of
camp. The brigade was to move to an empty cantonment, a hundred miles
farther south, there to be expanded into a division. At first the men
thought they were departing for the trenches, and all evening little
groups jabbered in the company street, shouting to each other in
swaggering exclamations: "Su-u-ure we are!" When the truth leaked out,
it was rejected indignantly as a blind to conceal their real
destination. They revelled in their own importance. That night they told
their girls in town that they were "going to get the Germans." Anthony
circulated for a while among the groups--then, stopping a jitney, rode
down to tell Dot that he was going away.
She was waiting on the dark veranda in a cheap white dress that
accentuated the youth and softness of her face.
"Oh," she whispered, "I've wanted you so, honey. All this day."
"I have something to tell you."
She drew him down beside her on the swinging seat, not noticing his
ominous tone.
"Tell me."
"We're leaving next week."
Her arms seeking his shoulders remained poised upon the dark air, her
chin tipped up.
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