We fell asleep with goose feathers of snow whirling against the
carriage windows, and woke to see a shot-silk sea flinging white lace
along a fairy coast on one side and pink and yellow villas nesting
among groves of palm and orange on the other.
"Of course this sort of thing doesn't happen in real life," said
Albert Edward, flattening his proboscis against the pane. "Either
it's all a dream or else those oranges will suddenly light up; George
Grossmith, in a topper and spats, will trip in from the O.P. side;
girls will blossom from every palm, and all ranks get busy with song
and prance--tra-la-la!"
The Babe kicked his blankets off and sat up. "Nothing of the sort.
We've arrived in well-known Italy, that's all. Capital--Rome.
Exports--old masters, chianti and barrel-organs. Faces South and is
centrally heated by Vesuvius."
We rattled into a cutting, the sides of which were decorated with
posters: "Good Healt at the England," "Good Luck at Tommy," and drew
up in a flag-festooned station, on the platform of which was a
deputation of smiling signorinas who presented the Atkinses with
postcards, fruit and cigarettes, and ourselves with flowers.
"Very _bon_--eh, what?" said the Babe as the train resumed its
rumblings. "All the same I wish we could thank them prettily and
tell them how pleased we are we've come. Does anybody handle the
patter?"
Albert Edward thought he did. "Used to swot up a lot of Italian
literature when I was a lad; technical military stuff about the
divisions of Gaul by one J. Cæsar."
"Too technical for everyday use," I objected. "A person called
D'Annunzio is their best seller now, I believe."
"Somebody'd better hop off the bus at the next stop and buy a book of
the words," said the Babe.
At the next halt I dodged the deputation and purchased a phrase-book
with a Union Jack on the cover, entitled _The English Soldier in
Italy_, published in Milan.
Among military terms, grouped under the heading of "The Worldly War,"
a _garetta_ (sentry-box) is defined as "a watchbox," and the
machine-gunner will be surprised to find himself described as "a
grapeshot-man." It has also short conversations for current use.
"Have you of any English papers?"
"Yes, sir, there's _The Times_ and _Tit-Bits_."
(Is it possible that the land of Virgil, of Horace and Dante knows
not _The Daily Mail_?)
"Give me, please, many biscuits."
"No, sir, we have no biscuits; the fabrication of them has been
avoided by Government."
"Waiter, show me a good bed where one may sleep undisturbated."
_In the train_:--
"Dickens! I have lost my ticket."
"Alas, you shall pay the price of another."