As we sat there the conversation seemed to lag
and a silence that struck me as somewhat ominous pervaded our little
group. I wondered if the rest were thinking of our number. One of my
best chums, Corporal Lawrence, was sitting next me, and I thought I
heard him sigh.
"What's the matter, Corporal, winded?" I asked.
"No, no, Sergeant, I was just thinking."
"Thinking? Thinking of what? The cookhouse? I'll bet we are all thinking
about that."
"No, Sergeant, it was not the cookhouse."
"Well, if it wasn't the cookhouse, is it that letter that is coming for
you tonight?" said I.
"No, you are wrong, Sergeant; it wasn't either of those things, much as
I would enjoy both the letter and the grub."
I felt that the gloom would become infectious if it were not immediately
dissipated, and I blurted out, "Well, for God's sake, don't keep us all
in suspense; how in hell are we going to go on until we know what you
are thinking about?"
His answer made me sorry I spoke.
"I was just thinking," said he, "that my number is up.
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