Johnny Got His Gun Page #3

is a cripple, and--

and all he can do

is go around

selling pencils!

Oh, no!

Not my other arm, too!

No, no! Please, no.

You've already taken

one of my arms--

I want him moved to

the least conspicuous room

you can find,

for his own good.

A room with a lock

and something over the windows

so they can't peer

in at him.

There isn't a decent

unoccupied room in the building.

Utility room?

Supply room?

Store room? Anything.

He can't tell

the difference.

Put someone

in here who can.

There's a game out there,

and the stakes are high.

And the guy who runs it

figures the averages

all day long

and all night long.

Once in a while,

he lets you steal a pot.

But if you stay

in the game long enough,

you've got to lose.

And once you've lost,

there's no way back.

No way at all.

Hit me.

Pay 20.

Christ, I sure could

do with a shot of whiskey.

Help yourself.

Bets down.

How'd you learn that?

I used to do it

at weddings.

Hey, can you do

card tricks, too?

Sure.

Cards to the gamblers.

Hit me.

I'm just fine.

Boy, I'm just fine.

Hit me.

Stan?

Hit me,

but not too hard.

Now, watch him get 21.

Pay 21.

It's a funny thing,

I can do

almost everything

but hit a 12.

any harder to hit

then a 13, should it?

Shouldn't be, but it is.

That's nothing

but superstition.

A 12 to hit

is just the same

as any other

number above it,

only better.

Don't let anybody

tell you different.

Assembly. What time

is it anyhow?

Three Christmases

and 41 days.

Time to go.

If I don't make

that train, I miss--

I miss a date to be killed

on the 27th of June

at 4:
30 a.m.

in the morning.

Not too good

for my kid, huh?

He's only a year,

eight months,

and smart as hell

already.

Sure wish I could see

him when he was 5.

You'll see him

when he's 50.

And you'll still be 23.

What the hell?

We're all gonna be killed.

That's what we're here for.

He's already got his.

And the big Swede here,

he's gonna catch flu

and die on shipboard.

I'm gonna get buried

in a trench cave-in

and smothered to death.

Now, isn't that

a hell of way to go?

Jeez.

All aboard!

Next stop, New York,

Atlantic Ocean,

and Paris, France!

What's this guy doing here?

He ain't gonna get killed.

Leave him alone.

He's all right.

Come on, boys.

On your feet.

We've got to make

that train.

Are you going with us?

Of course. I've got

lots of trains to handle.

Lots of dead men.

So many dead men,

you wouldn't believe it.

Not my legs! Not my legs, too!

Oh, God, no.

Not my legs, too.

Help me, somebody.

Help me.

Don't let them

cut my legs off.

Don't let them take my legs, too.

Jesus.

They just went ahead

and chopped off everything.

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