right now, but I know I'm not, the lyin' fool.”
“Some time, wasn't it?”
“I'll be damned to hell if I do it again. I can't sleep at night thinkin' of the shape of the Fritzies' helmets. Have you ever thought that there was somethin' about the shape of them goddam helmets...?”
“Ain't they just or'nary shapes?” asked Fuselli, half turning round. “I seen 'em in the movies.” He laughed apologetically.
“Listen to the rookie, Tub, he's seen 'em in the movies!” said the man with the nervous twitch in his voice, laughing a croaking little laugh. “How long you been in this country, buddy?”
“Two days.”
“Well, we only been here two months, ain't we, Tub?”
“Four months; you're forgettin', kid.”
The “Y” man turned his set smile on Fuselli while he filled his tin cup up with chocolate.
“How much?”
“A franc; one of those looks like a quarter,” said the “Y” man, his well-fed voice full of amiable condescension.
“That's a hell of a lot for a cup of chauclate,” said Fuselli.
“You're at the war, young man, remember that,” said the “Y” man severely. “You're lucky to get it at all.”
A cold chill gripped Fuselli's spine as he went back to the stove to drink the chocolate. Of course he mustn't crab. He was in the war now. If the sergeant had heard him crabbing, it might have spoiled his chances for a corporalship. He must be careful. If he just watched out and kept on his toes, he'd be sure to get it.
“And why ain't there no more chocolate, I want to know?” the nervous voice of the man who had stood in line behind Fuselli rose to a sudden shriek. Everybody looked round. The “Y” man was moving his head from side to side in a flustered way, saying in a shrill little voice:
“I've told you there's no more. Go away!”
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