CHAPTER XXIV

We walked down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The carpet on

the stairs was worn. I had paid for the dinner when it came up and the

waiter, who had brought it, was sitting on a chair near the door. He

jumped up and bowed and I went with him into the side room and paid the

bill for the room. The manager had remembered me as a friend and refused

payment in advance but when he retired he had remembered to have the

waiter stationed at the door so that I should not get out without

paying. I suppose that had happened; even with his friends. One had so

many friends in a war.

I asked the waiter to get us a carriage and he took Catherine’s package

that I was carrying and went out with an umbrella. Outside through the

window we saw him crossing the street in the rain. We stood in the side

room and looked out the window.

“How do you feel, Cat?”

“Sleepy.”

“I feel hollow and hungry.”

“Have you anything to eat?”

“Yes, in my musette.”

I saw the carriage coming. It stopped, the horse’s head hanging in the

rain, and the waiter stepped out, opened his umbrella, and came toward

the hotel. We met him at the door and walked out under the umbrella down

the wet walk to the carriage at the curb. Water was running in the

gutter.

“There is your package on the seat,” the waiter said. He stood with the

umbrella until we were in and I had tipped him.

“Many thanks. Pleasant journey,” he said. The coachman lifted the reins

and the horse started. The waiter turned away under the umbrella and

went toward the hotel. We drove down the street and turned to the left,

then came around to the right in front of the station. There were two

carabinieri standing under the light just out of the rain. The light

shone on their hats. The rain was clear and transparent against the

light from the station. A porter came out from under the shelter of the

station, his shoulders up against the rain.

“No,” I said. “Thanks. I don’t need thee.”

He went back under the shelter of the archway. I turned to Catherine.

Her face was in the shadow from the hood of the carriage.

“We might as well say good-by.”

“I can’t go in?”

“No.”

“Good-by, Cat.”

“Will you tell him the hospital?”

“Yes.”

I told the driver the address to drive to. He nodded.

“Good-by,” I said. “Take good care of yourself and young Catherine.”

“Good-by, darling.”

“Good-by,” I said. I stepped out into the rain and the carriage started.

Catherine leaned out and I saw her face in the light. She smiled and

waved. The carriage went up the street, Catherine pointed in toward the

archway. I looked, there were only the two carabinieri and the archway.

I realized she meant for me to get in out of the rain. I went in and

stood and watched the carriage turn the corner. Then I started through

the station and down the runway to the train.

The porter was on the platform looking for me. I followed him into the

train, crowding past people and along the aisle and in through a door to

where the machine-gunner sat in the corner of a full compartment. My

rucksack and musettes were above his head on the luggage rack. There

were many men standing in the corridor and the men in the compartment

all looked at us when we came in. There were not enough places in the

train and every one was hostile. The machine-gunner stood up for me to

sit down. Some one tapped me on the shoulder. I looked around. It was a

very tall gaunt captain of artillery with a red scar along his jaw. He

had looked through the glass on the corridor and then come in.

“What do you say?” I asked. I had turned and faced him. He was taller

than I and his face was very thin under the shadow of his cap-visor and

the scar was new and shiny. Every one in the compartment was looking at

me.

“You can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t have a soldier save you a

place.”

“I have done it.”

He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple go up and then down. The

machine-gunner stood in front of the place. Other men looked in through

the glass. No one in the compartment said anything.

“You have no right to do that. I was here two hours before you came.”

“What do you want?”

“The seat.”

“So do I.”

I watched his face and could feel the whole compartment against me. I

did not blame them. He was in the right. But I wanted the seat. Still no

one said anything.

Oh, hell, I thought.

“Sit down, Signor Capitano,” I said. The machine-gunner moved out of the

way and the tall captain sat down. He looked at me. His face seemed

hurt. But he had the seat. “Get my things,” I said to the

machine-gunner. We went out in the corridor. The train was full and I

knew there was no chance of a place. I gave the porter and the

machine-gunner ten lire apiece. They went down the corridor and outside

on the platform looking in the windows but there were no places.

“Maybe some will get off at Brescia,” the porter said.

“More will get on at Brescia,” said the machine-gunner. I said good-by

to them and we shook hands and they left. They both felt badly. Inside

the train we were all standing in the corridor when the train started. I

watched the lights of the station and the yards as we went out. It was

still raining and soon the windows were wet and you could not see out.

Later I slept on the floor of the corridor; first putting my pocket-book

with my money and papers in it inside my shirt and trousers so that it

was inside the leg of my breeches. I slept all night, waking at Brescia

and Verona when more men got on the train, but going back to sleep at

once. I had my head on one of the musettes and my arms around the other

and I could feel the pack and they could all walk over me if they

wouldn’t step on me. Men were sleeping on the floor all down the

corridor. Others stood holding on to the window rods or leaning against

the doors. That train was always crowded.