Oh, my son, my son!"
He rose blindly and groped his way along the wall until he came to the
inset gate leading into the patio; like a stricken animal retreating to
its lair, he sought the privacy of his old-fashioned garden, where none
might intrude upon his grief.
II
First Sergeant Michael Joseph Farrel entered the orderly-room and saluted
his captain, who sat, with his chair tilted back, staring mournfully at
the opposite wall.
"I have to report, sir, that I have personally delivered the battery
records, correctly sorted, labeled, and securely crated, to the
demobilization office. The typewriter, field-desk, and stationery have
been turned in, and here are the receipts."
The captain tucked the receipts in his blouse pocket.
"Well, Sergeant, I dare say that marks the completion of your duties--all
but the last formation." He glanced at his wrist-watch. "Fall in the
battery and call the roll. By that time, I will have organized my
farewell speech to the men. Hope I can deliver it without making a fool
of myself."
"Very well, sir."
The first sergeant stepped out of the orderly-room and blew three long
blasts on his whistle--his signal to the battery to "fall in." The men
came out of the demobilization-shacks with alacrity and formed within a
minute; without command, they "dressed" to the right and straightened the
line. Farrel stepped to the right of it, glanced down the long row of
silent, eager men, and commanded,
"Front!"
Nearly two hundred heads described a quarter circle.
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