"Now we're all here," said Crawshaw. "Come in to dinner, you men."
Two or three guests confided to me on the way that Crawshaw owed us a
good dinner after all he had got out of us. We seated ourselves at the
table, and then I noticed an empty bowl in the middle. It bore this
inscription, "Any one desiring to make a remark about the War will drop
a shilling in for the Soldiers' Comforts Fund."
"My idea," said our smiling host. "We want a nice convivial dinner with
an evening off from The Subject. We shall return to it to-morrow with
fresh intelligence and enthusiasm after a brief relaxation."
I turned to my neighbour, Spoor, and carefully selecting a safe topic
began on the weather. "Bit windy, isn't it, to-night?"
"Good anti-Zeppelin weather, I call it," said the incautious Spoor.
"A shilling, please, Spoor," remarked Crawshaw.
Rogers was across the table. I could see him fiddling with knives and
salt-cellars. All at once he broke out: "In our platoon to-day there
was a man missing, and in consequence a blank file. Now in such a
case----"
"You pay a shilling," interposed Crawshaw.
For a moment an awful silence prevailed. I could think of nothing
except the War. All at once Williams threw a five-shilling piece into
the bowl.
"I met an officer on leave from the Front to-day," he began, "and he
was telling me just what JOFFRE is up to."
Now Chapman is nothing if not a strategist. He listened with impatience
to the exposition of JOFFRE'S idea, and then, hurling half-a-sovereign
into the bowl, proved conclusively that Williams' informant was
absolutely in the wrong.
It was at this point that I remembered an interesting fact I had just
heard about Italy's mobilisation. I could not keep it back. "Crawshaw,"
I appealed, "will you compromise? A sovereign each for the dinner?"
"Done," said Crawshaw.
"Good. I always mistrusted you. I came without a penny. Lend me a
sovereign."
"I'm not in this compromise," cried Chapman. "I've said all I've got to
say. You'll run me in for nothing more."
It was at the end of the meal that Crawshaw rose. "Thanks awfully,
you fellows. There's twelve pounds twelve in the bowl. Eleven of us
have given a sovereign and Chapman there, bless his generous heart,
thirty-two shillings."
"Crawshaw," grumbled Chapman, "I know you've a family. I know you're
too old. I know you're physically disqualified. But you ought to go
to the Front. Not only would it raise the spirits of the poor people
you leave behind here, but your very presence in the trench with a
subscription list would make the enemy run."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "PORTER, PORTER! STOP THE TRAIN! I'VE LEFT MY WOOL IN
IT!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Belated Reveller._ "HERE, SWITCH OFF, GOV'NOR. I'M NOT
A ZELLERPIN!"]
* * * * *