in the water out of their square reddish-glowing windows. If they
had been lucky, they would have seen a liner come in through the
Golden Gate, growing from a blur of light to a huge moving
brilliance, like the front of a high-class theatre, that towered
above the ferry boats. You could often hear the thump of the screw
and the swish of the bow cutting the calm baywater, and the sound
of a band playing, that came alternately faint and loud. "When I
git rich," Fuselli had liked to say to Al, "I'm going to take a
trip on one of them liners."

"Yer dad come over from the old country in one, didn't he?" Al
would ask.

"Oh, he came steerage. I'd stay at home if I had to do that. Man,
first class for me, a cabin de lux, when I git rich."

But here he was in this town in the East, where he didn't know
anybody and where there was no place to go but the movies.

"'Lo, buddy," came a voice beside him. The tall youth who had sat
opposite at mess was just catching up to him. "Goin' to the
movies?"

"Yare, nauthin' else to do."

"Here's a rookie. Just got to camp this mornin'," said the tall
youth, jerking his head in the direction of the man beside him.

"You'll like it. Ain't so bad as it seems at first," said Fuselli
encouragingly.