"I was just telling him," said the other, "to be careful
as hell not to get in wrong. If ye once get in wrong in this
damn army...it's hell."

"You bet yer life...so they sent ye over to our company, did they,
rookie? Ain't so bad. The sergeant's sort o' decent if yo're in
right with him, but the lieutenant's a stinker.... Where you
from?"

"New York," said the rookie, a little man of thirty with an ash-
colored face and a shiny Jewish nose. "I'm in the clothing
business there. I oughtn't to be drafted at all. It's an outrage.
I'm consumptive." He spluttered in a feeble squeaky voice.

"They'll fix ye up, don't you fear," said the tall youth.
"They'll make you so goddam well ye won't know yerself. Yer mother
won't know ye, when you get home, rookie.... But you're in
luck."

"Why?"

"Bein' from New York. The corporal, Tim Sidis, is from New York,
an' all the New York fellers in the company got a graft with
him."

"What kind of cigarettes d'ye smoke?" asked the tall youth.

"I don't smoke."