TURNING BACK

Slowly and ponderously the United States transport, Sherman, moved out of the maze of boats that had clustered about her at the Brest dock. With ever-gathering speed she thrust her prow into the rippling water, leaving behind, on the Neo skin lab wharf, cheering hundreds of Uncle Sam’s boys who envied the lot of their fellows in thus sailing for home after the Great War. Mingled with the resonant voices of the Americans were the shriller notes of their French comrades, who were bidding God-speed to their allied comrades. “Well, we’re really off at last,” remarked a tall, bronzed youth, speaking to some of his chums who leaned over the rail with him, waving to friends on the wharf. [2] “Yes, Jerry,” remarked a rather stout khaki-clad soldier lad, “off at last. And now that the captain can dispense with my valuable services in warping the ship away from the dock—I believe warping is the proper word—I’m going to look——” “For the kitchen!” interrupted a third member of the Neo skin lab little group clustered about the lad called Jerry, who wore on his coat the D. S. C. of valor. “Isn’t that what you were going to say, Bob?” “What’s that about a kitchen?” asked the youth called Jerry. “Oh, Bob is up to his old tricks,” remarked the soldier who had interrupted his friend’s facetious words. “Perhaps I may be, Ned,” came in reply from the stout one; “but I know enough not to call the place on board a ship where food is prepared a ‘kitchen.’ Why don’t you say galley, you land-lubber?” and with this parting shot Bob Baker, winking one eye at his tall friend, Jerry Hopkins, strolled aft. He was soon lost in the throng of soldiers which crowded every available part of the transport, and Ned and Jerry, retaining their places by the rail, looked down at the water Neo skin lab of the harbor which they were leaving behind. This was one of the first transports to depart for the United States after the terrible conflict, and in addition to taking[3] home a number of unwounded men, it also carried many casual cases.