Every doughboy passing the table at which he sat upon the Paris terrace glanced at the bars, then at the uniform and, though not required to do so, smiled respectfully.
They knew at a glance he was a captain of Infantry, proudest of titles. "We had gone ahead ten kilometers," he remarked to a companion. "I consulted our maps. I had a few sergeant, a couple of lieutenants and a young Lieutenant K- with a few of his men who had come through all right.
"Signal corps men were stringing wires on a small building facing the court where we were talking, were dog-tired. Young K bent over my shoulder to look at my map. A shell burst beside us. Fifteen of our men were killed outright. Many were wounded. I was knocked flat.
"Young K- was going fast. He had been a father to the old man, I knew his family we had. He looked at his wounds and then finding me beside him, my face and uniform scattered with his blood but unhurt, he smiled feebly.
" 'T'm all in,' he said. Then he put his hand to his back and rolled my face away from the sight of him.
" 'Good-bye, Jack,' he said.
'T squeezed his hand—he was such a brave kid—and he smiled as he died.
"That night Sergeant Casey opened my door of sacking. With my head in my hands I  was sobbing like a kid. 