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Show Flying - I89 officers. A p r i v a t e with a white napkin over his arm is handing a plate of hot r o l l s around the table; another stands by with a pitcher of ice water. Inside the tent the dim forms of mess cooks and KP's hurry about. Leaning uncomfortably against a tree, John Henry watches the stately performance of the officers' dinner-the dance of the waiters, the processional of the dishes, the pageant of white-jacketed cooks coming forward to confer with the colonel.. The aroma of fine food drifts up the evening air and makes him hungry. In order to see more comfortably he climbs up into the oak and wedges himself between two branches. Now he can peer out between the leaves and even the OD, should he come along this early in the evening, will not see him. The leaves r u s t l e in the slight breeze, the officers' forks clink gently against china plates, a quiet murmur of voices is heard in the valley. The f i r s t wisps of fog are beginning to d r i f t in from the west, tinged pink by the setting sun. It is hard to think i l l of any nan at such a moment. As surely as the s o l i d a r i t y of a marching platoon or the good brassy sound of an army band, as certainly as the chemistry of new and subtle drugs, the moment pushes John Henry toward brotherhood with the men below him. They're part of the system, after a i l - n o t the creators of i t . No more to be blamed for its injustices than the |