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to Lowe .
    â€œCome on, General,” he said, “let’s get going. So long boys. Let’s go, kid.”
    The policeman shouted, “Stop, there!” but they disregarded him, hurrying down the long shed, leaving the excitement to clot about itself, for all of them.
    Outside the station in the twilight the city broke sharply its skyline against the winter evening and lights were shimmering birds on motionless golden wings, bell notes in arrested flight; ugly everywhere beneath a rumoured retreating magic of colour.
    Food for the belly, and winter, though spring was somewhere in the world, from the south blown up like forgotten music. Caught both in the magic of change they stood feeling the spring in the cold air, as if they had but recently come into a new world, feeling their littleness and believing too that lying in wait for them was something new and strange. They were ashamed of this and silence was unbearable.
    â€œWell, buddy,” and Yaphank slapped Cadet Lowe smartly on the back, “that’s one parade we’ll sure be A.W.O.L. from, huh?”
    II
    Who sprang to be his land’s defence
    And has been sorry ever since?
    Cadet!
    Who can’t date a single girl
    Long as kee-wees run the world?
    Kay—det!
    With food in their bellies and a quart of whisky snugly under Cadet Lowe’s arm they boarded a train.
    â€œWhere are we going?” asked Lowe. “This train don’t go to San Francisco, do she?”
    â€œListen,” said Yaphank, “my name is Joe Gilligan. Gilligan, G-i-l-l-i-g-a-n, Gilligan, J-o-e, Joe; Joe Gilligan. My people captured Minneapolis from the Irish and taken a Dutch name, see? Did you ever know a man named Gilligan give you a bum steer? If you wanta go to San Francisco, all right. If you wanta go to St. Paul or Omyhaw, it’s all right with me. And more than that, I’ll see that you get there. I’ll see that you go to all three of ’em if you want. But why’n hell do you wanta go so damn far as San Francisco?”
    â€œI don’t,” replied Cadet Lowe. “I don’t want to go anywhere especially. I like this train here—far as I am concerned. I say, let’s fight this war out right here. But you see, my people live in San Francisco. That’s why I am going there.”
    â€œWhy, sure,” Private Gilligan agreed readily. “Sometimes a man does wanta see his family—especially if he don’t hafta live with ’em. I ain’t criticizing you. I admire you for it, buddy. But say, you can go home any time. What I say is, let’s have a look at this glorious nation which we have fought for.”
    â€œHell, I can’t. My mother has wired me every day since the armistice to fly low and be careful and come home as soon as I am demobilized. I bet she wired the President to have me excused as soon as possible.”
    â€œWhy sure. Of course she did. What can equal a mother’s love? Except a good drink of whisky. Where’s that bottle? You ain’t betrayed a virgin, have you?”
    â€œHere she is.” Cadet Lowe produced it and Gilligan pressed the bell.
    â€œClaude,” he told a superior porter, “bring us two glasses and a bottle of sassperiller or something. We are among gentlemen today and we aim to act like gentlemen.”
    â€œWatcher want glasses for?” asked Lowe. “Bottle was all right yesterday.”
    â€œYou got to remember we are getting among strangers now. We don’t want to offend no savage customs. Wait until you get to be an experienced traveller and you’ll remember these things. Two glasses, Othello.”
    The porter in his starched jacket became a symbol of self-sufficiency. “You can’t drink in this car. Go to the buffet car.”
    â€œAh, come on, Claude. Have a heart.”
    â€œWe don’t have no drinking in this car. Go to the buffet car if you want.” He swung himself from seat to seat down