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with us, huh? Might come in useful.”
    â€œSure,” agreed Lowe. “Say, sir, what kind of ships did you use?”
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake,” interrupted Gilligan, “let him be. He’s been devastating France, now he needs rest, Hey. Loot?”
    Beneath his scarred and tortured brow the man’s gaze was puzzled but kindly and the porter reappeared with glasses and a bottle of ginger ale. He produced a pillow which he placed carefully behind the officer’s head, then he got two more pillows for the others, forcing them with ruthless kindness to relax. He was deftly officious, including them impartially in his activities, like Fate. Private Gilligan, unused to this, became restive.
    â€œHey, ease up, George; lemme do my own pawing a while. I aim to paw this bottle if you’ll gimme room.”
    He desisted saying, “Is this all right, Cap’m?”
    â€œYes, all right, thanks,” the officer answered. Then: “Bring your glass and get a drink.”
    Gilligan solved the bottle and filled the glasses. Ginger ale hissed sweetly and pungently. “Up and at ’em, men.”
    The officer took his glass in his left hand and then Lowe noticed his right hand was drawn and withered.
    â€œCheer-o,” he said.
    â€œNose down,” murmured Lowe. The man looked at him with poised glass. He looked at the hat on Lowe’s knee and that groping puzzled thing behind his eyes became clear and sharp as with a mental process, and Lowe thought that his lips had asked a question.
    â€œYes, sir, Cadet,” he replied, feeling warmly grateful, feeling again a youthful clean pride in his corps.
    But the effort had been too much and again the officer’s gaze was puzzled and distracted.
    Gilligan raised his glass, squinting at it. “Here’s to peace,” he said. “The first hundred years is the hardest.”
    Here was the porter again, with his own glass. “’Nother nose in the trough,” Gilligan complained, helping him.
    The negro patted and rearranged the pillow beneath the officer’s head. “Excuse me, Cap’m, but can’t I get you something for your head?”
    â€œNo, no, thanks. It’s all right.”
    â€œBut you’re sick, sir. Don’t you drink too much.”
    â€œI’ll be careful. “
    â€œSure,” Gilligan amended, “we’ll watch him.”
    â€œLemme pull the shade down. Keep the light out of your eyes?”
    â€œNo, I don’t mind the light. You run along. I’ll call if I want anything.”
    With the instinct of his race the negro knew that his kindness was becoming untactful, yet he ventured again.
    â€œI bet you haven’t wired your folks to meet you. Whyn’t you lemme wire ’em for you? I can look after you far as I go, but who’s going to look after you, then?”
    â€œNo, I’m all right, I tell you. You look after me as far as you go. I’ll get along.”
    â€œAll right. But I am going to tell your paw how you are acting someday. You ought to know better than that, Cap’m.” He said to Gilligan and Lowe: “You gentlemen call me if he gets sick.”
    â€œYes, go on now, damn you. I’ll call if I don’t feel well.” Gilligan looked from his retreating back to the officer in admiration. “Loot, how do you do it?”
    But the man only turned on them his puzzled gaze. He finished his drink and while Gilligan renewed them Cadet Lowe, like a trailing hound, repeated:
    â€œSay, sir, what kind of ships did you use?”
    The man looked at Lowe kindly, not replying, and Gilligan said:
    â€œHush. Let him alone. Don’t you see he don’t remember himself? Do you reckon you would, with that scar? Let the war be. Hey, Lootenant?”
    â€œI don’t know. Another drink is better.”
    â€œSure it is. Buck up, General. He don’t mean no harm. He’s just got to let her ride as