One Sunday as Kropp and I were lugging a latrine-bucket on a pole across the barrack-yard, Himmelstoss came by, all polished up and spry for going out. He planted himself in front of us and asked how we liked the job. In spite of ourselves we tripped and emptied the bucket over his legs. He raved, but the limit had been reached.

“That means clink,” he yelled.

But Kropp had had enough. “There’ll be an inquiry first,” he said, “and then we’ll unload.”

“Mind how you speak to a noncommissioned officer!” bawled Himmelstoss. “Have you lost your senses? You wait till you’re spoken to. What will you do, anyway?”

“Show you up, Corporal,” said Kropp, his thumbs in line with the seams of his trousers.