"There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr."
Angus turned, to find that he was being addressed by a short, stout
private of the draft, in a kilt much too big for him.
"Indeed, that is so," he replied politely. "What is your name?"
"Peter Bogle, sirr. I am frae oot of Kirkintilloch." Evidently
gratified by the success of his conversational opening, the little man
continued--
"I would like fine for tae get a contrack oot here after the War.
This country is in a terrible state o' disrepair." Then he added
confidentially--
"I'm a hoose-painter tae a trade."
"I should not like to be that myself," replied Angus, whose early
training as a minister's son was always causing him to forget the
social gulf which is fixed between officers and the rank-and-file.
"Climbing ladders makes me dizzy."
"Och, it's naething! A body gets used tae it," Mr. Bogle assured him.
Angus was about to proceed further with the discussion, when the cold
and disapproving voice of the Draft-Sergeant announced in his ear--
"An officer wishes to speak to you, sir."
Second-Lieutenant M'Lachlan, suddenly awake to the enormity of his
conduct, turned guiltily to greet the officer, while the Sergeant
abruptly hunted the genial Private Bogle back into the ranks.
Angus found himself confronted by an immaculate young gentleman
wearing two stars. Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly.
"Morning," observed the stranger. "You in charge of this draft?"
"Yes, sir," said Angus respectfully.
"Right-o! You are to march them to 'A' Company billets. I'll show you
the way. My name's Cockerell. Your train is late. What time did you
leave the Base?"
"Indeed," replied Angus meekly, "I am not quite sure. We had barely
landed when they told me the train would start at seventeen-forty.
What time would that be--sir?"
"About a quarter to ten: more likely about midnight! Well, get your
bunch on to the road, and--Hallo, what's the matter? Let go!"
The new officer was gripping him excitedly by the arm, and as the
new officer stood six-foot-four and was brawny in proportion, Master
Cockerell's appeal was uttered in a tone of unusual sincerity.
"Look!" cried Angus excitedly. "The dogs, the dogs!"
A small cart was passing swiftly by, towed by two sturdy hounds of
unknown degree. They were pulling with the feverish enthusiasm which
distinguishes the Dog in the service of Man, and were being urged to
further efforts by a small hatless girl carrying the inevitable large
umbrella.
"All right!" explained Cockerell curtly. "Custom of the country, and
all that."
The impulsive Angus apologised; and the draft, having been safely
manoeuvred on to the road, formed fours and set out upon its march.
"Are the Battalion in the trenches at present, sir?" inquired Angus.
"No. Rest-billets two miles from here. About time, too! You'll get
lots of work to do, though."
"I shall welcome that," said Angus simply. "In the dépôt at home we
were terribly idle. There is a windmill!"
"Yes; one sees them occasionally out here," replied Cockerell drily.
"Everything is so strange!" confessed the open-hearted Angus. "Those
dogs we saw just now--the people with their sabots--the country
carts, like wheelbarrows with three wheels--the little shrines at the
cross-roads--the very children talking French so glibly--"
"Wonderful how they pick it up!" agreed Cockerell. But the sarcasm
was lost on his companion, whose attention was now riveted upon an
approaching body of infantry, about fifty strong.
"What troops are those, please?"
Cockerell knitted his brows sardonically.
"It's rather hard to tell at this distance," he said; "but I rather
think they are the Grenadier Guards."
Two minutes later the procession had been met and passed. It consisted
entirely of elderly gentlemen in ill-fitting khaki, clumping along
upon their flat feet and smoking clay pipes. They carried shovels on
their shoulders, and made not the slightest response when called upon
by the soldierly old corporal who led them to give Mr. Cockerell "eyes
left!" On the contrary, engaged as they were in heated controversy or
amiable conversation with one another, they cut him dead.