Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/88

70 West and many of them had had experience with horses. That would help.

The mess sergeant placed steaming cans of coffee and tins of corn bread on the counter. His voice sang out cheerily:

"Come and get it!"

The inert and drowsy groups aroused themselves. A rough line was formed and passed stolidly by, each man taking his share without words.

As they munched they stared at the bare walls and the pine tables and the windows beyond which the indifferent dawn illuminated a little through the mist the unfamiliar wastes of Upton.

A sergeant cried with rough good humor:

"We're not going to bite you. What's the matter? Talk up! Haven't you got a song?"

On some of the sleepy, grimy faces a grin struggled. There was no song, but sporadic conversations sprang up here and there and died away.

One man's head rested on his arms which were stretched across a table. A snore disturbed the silence. Others followed with unequal effect. There was a laugh or two.

In a corner a little fellow, bronzed from the western sun, sat before his untasted bread and coffee. He didn't laugh with the others. His expression altered, There grew about his mouth an uncontrollable twitching. For a moment we thought he was going to laugh, too. He began silently and with difficulty to cry.