e a smoke... I've got
the makings."

A great surge of relief swept over Fred. A smoke! Somehow, he had
forgotten that such a solace existed in this new world of terror and
pain.

It appeared that the only place indoors where smoking was permitted
was the lavatory, but when they reached the corridor they found a line
forming ready to march out to take the air. They decided to wait and
have their smoke in the open. Fred and his companion exchanged names.
The youth was Felix Monet.

"I'm not sure whether you go out with us," Monet admitted, as they
swung into place. "This crowd is bound for the front parade ground.
It's not usual for newcomers to have that privilege."

Fred made no reply. The line of men shuffled forward.

"We go downstairs first for our shoes," the youth finished.

Presently they found themselves upon the ground floor, in a small room
where an attendant distributed shoes and hats. It appeared that Fred's
shoes were there, duly labeled. The man in charge made no objection to
yielding them up.

"You must have a pull," Monet remarked, as Fred sat down upon a stool
to draw on his shoes.

Fred shook his head in silence. Evidently the assistant superintendent
had said a word for him. ... He was not to be put to the torture of
the bull pen, then!

Outside, the air was warm and the sunlight dazzling. Fred felt a surge
of red-blooded life sweep him as his quivering nostrils drank in the
pungent odors from the midsummer foliage. Waves of heat floated
wraithlike from the yellow stubble, bathing the distant hills in an
arid-blue haze. At convenient intervals clumps of dark-green trees
threw contrasting patches of shade upon the tawny, sun-bleached sod.
But Fred ignored their cool invitation. He always had hated hot
weather with all his coast-bred soul, but to-day a hunger for warmth
possessed him completely.

Monet and he took a broad path which circled for about a quarter of a
mile about the grounds. As they progressed, several joined them. Fred
was introduced to each in turn, but he responded listlessly. Almost at
once the newcomers hurled questions at him... Why was he there? ...
How long was he in for? ... What did he think were the chances of
escape? Inevitably, every conversation turned upon this last absorbing
topic. These men seemed eager for confidences, they wanted to share
their experiences, their grievances, their hopes. But Fred Starratt
recoiled. He had not yet reached the stage when a thi