The evening meal was eaten, and darkness settled down over Camp Berry.

Mock, still limping and looking woeful, kept out in the open air.
"Psst!" came sharply from somewhere, and Mock, turning, saw a man in civilian garb standing in the shadow of a latrine shed.
"Come here," called the stranger.

Still surly, but urged by curiosity, Mock obeyed the summons.
"I don't want to be seen talking with you," murmured the stranger, in a low voice, "but I want to offer you my sympathy.

Say, but a man gets treated roughly in the Army.

That captain of yours---" As the stranger paused, looking keenly at Mock, the disgruntled sergeant finished vengefully: "The captain?
He's a dog!" "Dog is right," agreed the stranger promptly.