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At the railroad end of the main street were the offices and residences of those who worked
at Collecting Center #55. The Collecting Center was run by the Quartermaster, the Senior,
Registration and Tax Clerks and these men had their offices and homes on the left hand
side of the street with the Quartermaster's at the end beside the jail. On the other side of
the street, opposite these residences were the permanent offices of the Army, occupied
only during War time, and the offices of the Railroad Staff: the Stationmaster and the
Shipping and Transfer Clerks. The corner shed here was large and L-shaped, extending
round to face the station and contained the assembly area. Down here there were no lights during the day. It was growing dark and the shadow of the station was long across the tracks and had begun to creep up the wall of the assembly area. Inside the new inductees from Drummerton were almost ready to emerge while outside Carl lay almost opposite, half lying across the nearest track. Then the Station lights came on. These were not the brilliant lights of the Collecting Center. They provided sufficient light to see and no more. The waiting area door opened and another Marshall stepped out and blew a whistle while others took their positions along the platform and the route of march. The whistle blew again and yet another Marshall appeared followed by the Drummerton Brigade. The Marshals continued to ignore Carl and the route of march came dangerously close by him. He was finally, however, beginning to recover his senses and he rolled away a bit and half sat up. The nearest Marshall was thinking about giving him another crack when suddenly an old man deviated from the route of march and stooped to help him. 'Come on, get up youngster, you can't stay there. You'll get trampled on.' The old man's lift was ineffectual but it served as an impetus to get Carl moving. The nearby Marshall whipped the man instead while Carl climbed to his feet and moved unsteadily away. He staggered towards the wall of the nearest shed, then lurched along it and came upon the handle of a door. Then he stumbled into a smoky room, lit with a naked light bulb swinging above a table at which five men were playing cards. Inside he tripped against a small side table fell, with a crash, flat on his face again. The men were startled, shouting, jumping up, putting their cards in disarray. 'Who the hell is this?' 'Some sort of a country boy.' 'Didn't you lock the door when you came in, coon?' 'Get this table straight. Get them cards back on.' 'You're too nervous, that's your trouble, Fogart. Jumping up like that.' 'I thought it were the Army, that's all.' 'These people are like ants. They're all over the place!' One of the men grabbed Carl by the hair. 'Where d'you come from? What d'you want?' 'Hey, Jake, says he's looking for the Quartermaster.' 'They get in yer hair. In yer clothes. I'll be glad when this War's over.' 'Just pick up the cards, man, and stop complaining.' 'Yes, sir, Mr. Bluemud.' Another of the men came and grabbed the peasant. 'I'm the Quartermaster, boy. What d'you mean burstin' in here like that, ruining our game? What? What's that you say? You wanna know if...' The Quartermaster let out a burst of laughter. 'What's the joke, Mr. Quartermaster?' 'Mr. Bluemud, this one says he's looking for somewhere to sleep. Says the sleeping quarters are too crowded! If that don't beat everything! We ain't ever had one complain before!' They gave the Corporal a place to sleep that night: they put him in the jail. |
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