He was sitting thus a cold cheerless December day with a French book he had recently sent for, trying to study a little and prepare himself for the new country to which he was soon going.

The door of the barracks opened letting in a rush of cold air, and closed again quickly. A tall man in uniform with the red triangle on his arm stood pulling off his woolen gloves and looking about him. Nobody paid any attention to him. Cameron was deep in his book and did not even notice him. Off at his left a new crap game was just starting. The phraseology beat upon his accustomed ears like the buzz of bees or mosquitos.

"I'll shoot a buck!"

"You're faded!"

"Come on now there, dice! Remember the baby's shoes!"

Cameron had ceased to hear the voices. He was struggling with a difficult French idiom.

The stranger took his bearings deliberately and walked over to Cameron, sitting down with a friendly air on the nearest cot.

"Would you be interested in having one of my little books?" he asked, and his voice had a clear ring that brought Cameron's thoughts back to the barracks again. He looked up for a curt refusal. He did not wish to be bothered now, but something in the young man's earnest face held him. Y.M.C.A. men in general were well enough, but Cameron wasn't crazy about them, especially when they were young. But this one had a look about him that proclaimed him neither a slacker nor a sissy. Cameron hesitated: "What kind of a book?" he asked in a somewhat curt manner.