A LOUSY LADY
—1—
We’d been in Le Mans a month and nothing very exciting had happened. We
came down from Brest in those French box cars that are marked “8 chevaux
40 hommes” and it took me a week to recover from the ride, after which I
went out and found myself a bath—thank God again!
I was really forced into it, though. The General had been making trips
all over the surrounding country and Chilblaines and I had usually gone
along. We went to Alençon to see the place they were fixing up there to
take care of horses that were shipped over for the cavalry and
artillery—although the cavalry didn’t have much to do in a war of this
kind. We also visited Blois and its hospital center, and Tours, which
was the headquarters of the Service of Supply. And we’d seen Orléans and
Angers and I hoped to see Paris soon.
However, to get back to the bath:—We were on our way back from Tours
when we had two flat tires in a row and Getterlow had to fix the second
one, because we only had one spare. While we were standing around—I was
trying to help him—the General noticed that I was doing quite a lot of
fidgeting and scratching and finally asked me about it. “What’s the
matter, Sergeant?” he inquired. “Received your allotment of cooties
already?”
Chilblaines laughed and I laughed, too. It wasn’t news to me: I knew I
had acquired a family, but I had put off doing anything about it until I
could get a bath and a new change of clothes. But when Chilblaines
laughed, I determined to do something without further delay.
The General didn’t wait for me to reply; he just suggested, “If you
have, Sergeant, for God’s sake get rid of them at once.”
“I will, sir,” I said then.
But Chilblaines had to pipe up and say, “No use trying to clean them out
of your clothes. I advise burning them and getting a new outfit—that
is, if you can afford it.”
Now, imagine an officer making a crack like that! As if I couldn’t
afford clothes just as well as he could! The way he said things gave me
the willies anyway, and I just looked hard at him and said, “That’s what
I’ll do this very afternoon, if I have time.”
“Take time,” said the General.
So when we were back in camp I proceeded to take time. I went into the
city in search of a public bath where one could get a private bath. I
carried with me a complete change of clothes and two kinds of medicine
and a bluish ointment that was recommended by Ben and every other man
whose advice I sought. I finally found a bath establishment and went in.
A woman who had the appearance of age but the manner of girlish youth
welcomed me at the door and ushered me into the rear of the building,
where there were several little rooms just large enough for a bathtub.
The woman chattered glibly as she wiped out the tub I chose and drew the
water, and when she brought the towels and soap she made no move toward
leaving me to take care of myself.
I started to undress, beginning with my shoes and blouse. She hung up
the blouse and pushed the door shut. I didn’t take off anything else,
but just sat there on the stool and looked at her. Finally, when she
didn’t move, I said, “That’s all for now, thank you.”
All I got for my pains was a stream of French, telling me how nice it
was to meet a fine young American boy who could speak such good French.
“But I want to bathe,” I told her. “I don’t need you now.”
“Ah—mais non! non! non!” she exclaimed. “I will help you.” She laid her
hands on my shoulders.
This was too much. “No, thank you!” I told her. “I can get along very
well. I wish to be alone.”
But she didn’t make a move until I got up and actually pushed her
through the door. I pulled the latch across and proceeded to undress.
Everything was quiet for several minutes and I was just on the point of
removing my cootie-laden underwear—regulation issue, by the way—when I
happened to look at the door and noticed a cracked panel through which I
could see the old woman’s eye peering in intently. I grabbed my breeches
and hung them over the peep-hole. Just as I was getting into the tub, a
knock sounded. “What do you want?” I asked.
“M’sieur desires a cognac for after the bath?” she sounded very eager.
She made me mad. “M’sieur wishes you to get the hell outa there! I don’t
want anything!” How does a woman get like that: if she were young, I
could understand it—but a woman as old as she was made it a mystery to
me. Apparently my education wasn’t complete yet.
Anyway, I went on with my bath, and believe me, I scrubbed as I never
scrubbed before. Then I drained the tub and filled it up again, and as
soon as the water started to run, the old woman came back to the door
with her jabbering, wanting to know what I was trying to do. I told her
I’d pay for two baths and for her to shut up and go away. She kept
talking but I wouldn’t be bothered answering her.
After I was washed and dry again I applied my lotions and ointment in
generous quantities—too generous, I later discovered, for my skin was
so sore in some spots that I couldn’t touch it. However, I got rid of
the cooties. I dressed and opened the door.
The madame was right there waiting for me. She started right off telling
me what a wonderful American soldat I was, how young and clean, and she
finally attempted to taunt me into friendliness by saying that she’d bet
I was still a virgin.
I had to laugh, as I told her, “You’re right, for once.” And, giving her
ten francs, I hurried out of the place. I carried my clothes back to
camp and burned them, cooties and all, in the incinerator. Then I felt
clean again—until the ointment started to burn me up.
Several days later I made another visit to the baths and almost had to
fight my way out. That woman seemed to be obsessed with the idea of
making love to me. I guess I was not very curious. My next bath would be
somewhere else, if there were any other place in town.
—2—
Having received another letter from Vyvy, I sent her a post card with
the following endearing lines:
“Excitement all the time. Cooties but no war as yet.
Mademoiselles aplenty but all ugly. All my love—all my
kisses—and I wish you could be with us.
LEON.”
A couple of days later I sent a note to Aunt Elinor. It was written on
Y.M.C.A. paper, after I had spent some time visiting post card vendors
in search of appropriate cards to send home. As all the vendors had
nothing but photographs suitable only for private collections—some of
them actually revolting in the scenes they depicted—I decided that they
couldn’t possibly get through the United States Mail. I did buy about a
dozen of the rarest ones—for no better reason than that the legless
veteran who had them seemed to take it for granted that an American
soldier was interested in such pictures. My education was proceeding
again. I wrote to Aunt Elinor:
“I bought a wonderful collection of rare prints to-day. Too
valuable to send by mail, so I’ll bring them home with me. Every
time I look at them I realize that Home was Never like This!”
And it certainly wasn’t!
A few days later everyone was required to go to the movies in the
Casino. I had no idea what was coming or I might have tried to escape
the ordeal. I fell in with the rest of the outfit and sat in the midst
of a crowd that was anything but ladylike. The picture was supposed to
be educational, was entitled FIT TO FIGHT or something like that, and by
the time it was over, I must confess that I wasn’t fit to do anything.
Whew! And the comments the fellows made anent various familiar details.
Every new sequence in the picture recalled some personal experience or
story to somebody near me, and between the picture and the stories, I
was blushing from my hair to my toes. After we came back, Ben said,
resentfully, “They can’t kid me on that stuff! Seein’ a thousand
pictures like that wouldn’t make me lose interest in a good-lookin’
shank!” I decided that Ben had a cast-iron system.
I wondered what had become of Leon. Aunt Elinor wrote that his arm was
practically well again and that he had left Booneville. I wondered what
he intended to do. I might have known that he wouldn’t stay there,
although it would be a wonderful place for him to commune with nature
and let his muse run wild in poetic ecstasies. It just goes to show that
you never can tell about anyone. Anyway, I rather wanted to know what to
expect of him.
Jay-Jay should have been in France by now. It seemed rather funny that I
didn’t hear from him. Perhaps that meant that he didn’t really think I
was here. He never did have much liking for Leon, so naturally would not
break his neck to see him. But Jay-Jay was foxy: you couldn’t tell what
he thought or was planning. It wouldn’t make me peeved if I never saw
him. That’s how much I loved that gentleman.
—3—
Another short note came from Aunt Elinor to inform me that she had come
across an old post card from Lisa Mantour, the darling of a maid who was
with us at St. Malo years and years ago. Auntie wrote as soon as she
found it, because she thought I must look up Lisa at once and thus be
able to fall back upon her in case of discovery or trouble of any kind.
It was awfully funny, too, because the post card was sent from this very
city of Le Mans, and I’d be leaving in another day or so. So I made up
my mind to find her, if she was still in the city. I’d have to manage to
get away without Ben, because I didn’t want to risk his overhearing
anything about twins that might stir his imagination. He had enough
foundation for suspicions as it was.
I had my second hair-cut for this rôle. I was a pretty clean-cut young
fella, believe me.
—4—
The next day I discovered to my horror that I did the dizziest thing! I
burned up that letter from Auntie without copying the name of the man
Lisa married. I knew her maiden name but I had one hell of a time trying
to remember that other name just from reading it once in that letter.
So I ditched Ben and went in town to see if I couldn’t see some name
that would recall Lisa’s. I walked all over the downtown section,
looking at window signs and cards, and repeating over and over all the
possibilities that came to my mind. I knew the name started with “L” and
I tried every possible combination of letters beginning with that
letter, but nothing clicked.
It began to rain and I stepped into a corner doorway to escape the
downpour. Two Frenchmen under umbrellas were standing in front of me,
gesticulating so wildly that their hands were all wet, and one of them
kept referring to some name that finally began to sound familiar. I
listened more closely and, sure enough, that was the very name I had
been trying to remember. I grabbed the man’s arm and demanded very
excitedly, “Did you say ‘Lenotier,’ m’sieur?”
“But yes,” admitted the startled man. “Pierre Lenotier, our friend.
Pourquoi?”
“That’s it! Exactly it!” I exclaimed. “And where does one find this
Pierre Lenotier, m’sieur?”
The two natives stared at each other a moment, then stared at me;
finally the one who had not spoken yet stepped from beneath his little
roof long enough to point to the sign over the doorway in which I was
standing. “You do not read, m’sieur?” he asked, with that gentleness
which one affects in humoring a lunatic.
I stepped out and looked at the old sign over the door. It read
LE CHIEN ROUGE
PIERRE LENOTIER, PR.
“Merci, merci, m’sieur.” I laughed at him as I ran beneath the sign and
into the café. Then I stopped, for there behind the bar was Lisa
herself: a little older looking, fatter and perhaps harder faced, but I
knew her at once. I started to yell across the room to her, but noticed
that there were a few French and American soldiers at the tables, so I
walked smilingly up to the bar.
I stopped in front of her and waited for her to say something. But she
just stared at me, as if I were any other soldier wanting a drink.
“Lisa,” I cried out finally. “Don’t you know me?”
Apparently she didn’t. She had seen too many American soldiers to take
much stock in any of them. I removed my cap and leaned across the bar.
“Lisa, don’t you remember Leon Canwick?”
Her eyes gleamed at that and she smiled, but you could see that she
couldn’t believe me, coming upon her so unexpectedly. Finally her grin
broadened and she said, “C’est impossible! Mon petit diable! Leon! Non,
non....”
But a good survey seemed to persuade her, for she led me then, amid a
continual stream of happy chattering, into a back room which opened off
the main room at the end of the little bar. Then she looked me over
again, as if she couldn’t possibly believe what she was seeing. “Non ...
non ... impossible!”
I laughed and told her that she was right. “It is not Leon at all.”
This was too much for her. She had to sit down—while she grumbled and
gave out little explosive phrases of disparagement of these foolish
Americans who play tricks on hard-working people. She spluttered and
fussed and stared at me until I added, “This is Leona Canwick.” Then she
just stared open-mouthed at me as if I were some kind of specter.
“What foolishness!” she finally managed to exclaim. “This is more worse
yet! You joke: you are Leon!... You should not joke an old woman,
M’sieur Leon.”
“But I’m not Leon,” I insisted. “I am Leona.”
Well, she refused to be convinced. We argued and I laughed until the
tears came in my eyes. I’d never had so much real fun since I’d been in
the army. She was just too funny, running out to wait on her customers
and coming back to declare again and again that she had no time for any
jokes. When I was too weak from laughter to argue further, I proved to
her my identity in the only way in which it could be proved. She was too
dumfounded to speak, so while she sat silently gaping at me, I tried to
explain how I had come here. Finally she understood and believed me. Not
until then did she really welcome me, with an abundance of hugs and
kisses and much jolly laughter. We talked over the happy days at St.
Malo and I told her about Leon and Aunt Elinor. Altogether, I must have
spent an hour there, with her running in and out from the bar to
entertain me.
When I left, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me smack on
the cheek—just as a short, stocky, bald-headed and walrus-mustached man
appeared in the doorway and glared daggers at us. I knew at once that
this was Pierre, but something told me to keep going—and I went, before
Lisa could introduce us.
I imagined he would raise Cain before Lisa had a chance to explain to
him that I was really a girl. I hoped I wouldn’t have to prove my sex to
him in order to avoid his jealous scowl!
—5—
I stopped in to see Lisa again, the day following, and her husband was
there. She welcomed me with a smile but, if looks could kill, I’d be a
dead rabbit right now from the effects of old Pierre’s glances. He was
madder than the devil himself.
I asked Lisa why she didn’t tell him the truth and save herself any
trouble. She just laughed at me. “It is too funny, chère,” she
explained. “He thinks you are a man—and he is so jealous—ou la la!”
“But why not tell him I am a girl?” I insisted.
“Because,” she said, “Pierre, he gets too much of the cognac and talks
off his head. He speaks everything he knows when he gets beaucoup
zigzag. Non, chère, I will not tell him. And he is so funny, anyway. It
will do him good.”
Well, I wished she had told him. He threw a dirty wet rag at Esky and
wouldn’t let him come in at all. He was liable to throw something worse
than that at me.
—6—
Another day at Le Mans and I thanked heaven it would be the last. I
suppose we had the Germans to thank, because they started their “big
push” about three weeks before and threatened the whole Allied system of
defenses by breaking through the British in Flanders. General Backett
heard reports that didn’t sound very good: apparently the Fritzies were
putting everything they’d got into this offensive, because they figured
that it was now or never. If they couldn’t win now, before the United
States poured in another million men, they might as well run up the
white flag. However, everyone on this side seemed to be optimistic over
the eventual preponderance of man power and the early end of the war.
How all this affected us, I didn’t know, except that American troops
were seeing action and the need for replacements was increasing, with
the result that our division was designated as a replacement division
and was soon to join the First Army Corps, the headquarters of which
were at Neufchâteau.
But the General wasn’t going with them. He wanted to in the worst way,
but had to give way before younger and more physically robust officers.
He was rather upset about it, I guess, but he was too old a soldier to
kick. He said, “There’s too much to be done, for any one man to complain
about the disposition of his ability.”
In a way I was sorry not to be going with the outfit, for then I might
see some real action; but real action would be dangerous for me, and I
liked working for the General so well and I got along so easily, that I
was glad he was taking me with him. I mean, common sense told me I’d
have less to worry about if I stuck with him. This headquarters company
might be all broken up before long anyway and I might find myself a cook
or pick-and-shovel expert—which wouldn’t be so good.
Chilblaines would be with him, too—he was promoted to a captaincy, so
he could act as General Backett’s personal aide. And Getterlow was
assigned to drive for him. Getterlow was a good chauffeur, when he was
sober—which was seldom.
I surely did hate to leave Ben. When I told him the news, he was almost
heart-broken. “Can’t ya get me a job drivin’ er doin’ somethin’?” he
wanted to know. “I’d give my shirt to get into somethin’ different. This
orderlyin’ an’ doin’ nothing in particular is a hell of a life fer an
able-bodied soljer like me.”
“Maybe Getterlow will get the can before long,” I encouraged him.
“How in hell did that guy get that job?” he demanded. “He ain’t no
chauffeur. He told me hisself he used to work in a jewelry store!”
I explained that Getterlow had a wagoner’s rating and was assigned to
this job by the officer who had charge of such duties.
“Well, I can’t see it!” Ben maintained. “I used to work in a garage an’
I know more about wagons than that kike will ever know. But I can’t get
close enough to even touch an automobile in this man’s army.”
I told him I’d do anything I could to get him transferred if anything
should happen to Getterlow—“In fact, I’ll do my best to help something
happen to him. I’ll even buy a few drinks for him, if that will help
any.”
“I hope he gets the D.T.’s!” Ben meant exactly that, too. “He’s nothin’
but a handshaker! This is a hell of a war an’ a hell of an army: if
you’re a good cook, they make a machine gunner outa ya; if ya can run an
airplane, they put ya to work in a canteen sellin’ cigarettes. I
suppose, havin’ been a boxer, I’ll end up as a bugler! I know it ain’t
yer fault, Leony—but ya do what ya can, will ya?”
And I surely wanted to, for I hated to leave him, more than I would if
he were my brother Leon. He certainly was one damned fine egg!
That evening I went down to say good-by to Lisa. I didn’t stay long. Her
husband was about and he didn’t take his eye off us all the time I was
there. I guess Lisa didn’t think the jealousy joke was so funny now. She
said he had accused her of everything from adultery to incest and that
he told her he supposed he’d come home sometime and find her in the arms
of a “big black American Indian.”
That was awful—I mean, for a man to talk that way to his wife. And Lisa
must have been a good wife, too. But she wouldn’t tell him the truth.
Said she’d manage him all right.
Old Pierre stopped me as I was leaving and he didn’t mince words at all.
From what he said, I gathered that it was just as well for me that I was
leaving Le Mans. M. Lenotier didn’t care to sell me any wine and didn’t
want me in his café at all.... Well, I did hope Lisa could manage him.
I’d hate to think that I had been responsible for making her miserable.
—7—
I went to Chaumont, for the General to report to G.H.Q., which was
there. I saw more generals and colonels around there than I ever knew
existed. A poor enlisted man might as well have his arm hitched up to
his cap: you had to salute every time you turned around, and half the
officers didn’t bother to return the compliment. I didn’t much care for
a place that was so lousy with officers and it wasn’t going to make me
mad to go wherever we were headed.
The General informed me in the afternoon as to the nature of our new
work. “If this war had happened ten years earlier,” he said, “I would be
taking my command into a zone of action—but that’s the price we pay for
growing old. Now we’ll just work—and mostly far from the Front.”
“What kind of work, sir?” I inquired.
“Inspector General’s Department,” he replied. “General B—— is
Inspector General of the A.E.F. and I am to operate as a representative
of his office, although the major portion of our actual work will be in
the S.O.S. and under the Headquarters at Tours.... Oh, it will be more
or less interesting, and besides, somebody has to do it: someone has to
keep an eye on these young officers who aren’t dry behind the ears yet,
and see that some enterprising salesman doesn’t sell the Quartermaster
Depot to the Spaniards.”
Well, I never had heard of the Inspector General’s Department, and I
frankly admitted my ignorance.
“It isn’t the Intelligence Division,” he hastened to inform me. “We’re
not secret service operatives or anything like that. We’re inspectors
and reporters. We will inspect organizations and administrations and
investigate cases of criminal misconduct and evidences of poor
coördination between branches of the service. We merely report our
findings and suggest corrections or improvements. That’s our job from
now on.”
So now I supposed we’d go out and inspect something or investigate
somebody. Well, it suited me, as long as we got out of Chaumont.
—8—
We arrived in Tours the next day after a rather hectic trip from
Chaumont via Paris. I didn’t care much for wartime France. Every house
shut up tight at dusk. No street lights. Military Police every two feet
asking you where you were going and why and who told you you could go.
Not so pleasant.
New work too, although I hadn’t done much yet, except just enough
routine stuff to serve as an introduction to this kind of stuff.
Entirely different from Divisional paper work, but I’d get it in time.
Just then I was all excited about something else: and I knew it was
absolutely inane, utterly foolish of me, too. However, the fact remained
that I did see Captain Winstead in Paris! Just the sight of him was
enough to make me dizzy.
I assumed he had something to do with the Intelligence, for it was there
that I saw him. He was talking with some officers in the entrance to the
building, and Getterlow and I were sitting in the General’s car, out of
the rain. I had my slicker turned up around my ears and I just couldn’t
make my hands pull it down—I couldn’t decide whether I wanted him to
see me or not. In the first place, if he had a memory for faces, he
might recognize me at once; and I didn’t know whether he’d met Leon in
Wakeham or not—if not, he would be suspicious at once. Besides I didn’t
think I could face him without giving myself away: he was handsomer than
ever and I could have climbed right on his neck the minute I saw him
again.
Anyway, he finally walked right past us and I saluted him. He didn’t
even stop to look at me—just saluted and went on his way. I suppose I
was foolish to be so excited: probably nobody would be suspicious of
me—I mean, after all, Captain Winstead would not have any reason to
suspect that a girl was in France disguised as a soldier. I wished I had
spoken to him.... This damned old war: he might not be in Paris the next
time we got there!
—9—
My mail caught up with me in Bourges and brought letters from home and
from Ben.
Poor Ben: he said he broke out with some kind of rash or measles or
something equally childish and they sent him to the infirmary at Le
Mans. “I’m ashamed of myself for having anything like this, but I’ll
stay here now until you poison Getterlow and get me out.” I was
surprised to find that he could actually write English that you could
read. He must have gone to school at some time in his lurid past. I
wrote and told him that Getterlow was coming to the end of his rope.
The letter from home inclosed some American Express checks, which would
come in handy, and told me that Leon gave up trying to get across any
other way and finally enlisted in a hospital unit that expected to come
over very soon. Also someone had heard from Jay-Jay—and he was
stationed in Paris!
Wasn’t that just my luck! To have the man you love and the man that
loves you in the same city. After all, Paris was a pretty small place,
in so far as American soldiers were concerned: there were only half a
dozen places where they congregated, and if I got to Paris again, I
couldn’t try to see Captain Winstead without running the risk of meeting
Jay-Jay.
And pretty soon Leon would be showing up over here, and it’d just be my
luck to run into him—and further complicate matters. If Jay-Jay ever
saw the two of us, he’d know at once there was something wrong.... Well,
anyway, I had to retract all those horrid things I thought of my fair
brother. Of course, he could have started sooner for camp, but then,
after all, he started and did try to get there, and now he’d proved his
mettle by enlisting again. Only I couldn’t for the life of me see where
I was going to end up. What if he should get killed over here, or lose a
leg or an arm or something like that? I could never get out of this
mess! It seemed like everything was going wrong all at once.
The General looked over the administration of the organization at
Bourges and kept me busy for two days making out a detailed report of
the place, giving reams and reams of statistics on every conceivable
detail of the American establishment there. I was afraid the General was
so full of regulations and knowledge of how organizations should
function that my life from now on was going to be very hectic indeed. A
couple of reports like this one and I’d be bleary.
We traveled in a big touring car. I had a field desk and a portable
typewriter that wasn’t worth two whoops, and which I didn’t use unless I
couldn’t find a better one wherever we happened to be. Chilblaines was
the boss’s errand boy and Getterlow drove. I guess the General kept
Chilblaines with him for the latter’s protection: the lieutenant’s
father or mother or uncle or somebody was a close friend of the
General’s and I guess he figured the best turn he could do Chilblaines
was to keep him away from any outfit that might go near the Front:
Chilblaines wouldn’t last a week up there. Someone would let the sky
fall on him, probably.
I saved Getterlow from the consequences of his sins several times, just
to avoid a scene. I hated to see a fellow get bawled out. But he was
getting worse. He got drunk every time we stopped and he thought every
mademoiselle in France had been waiting for him to arrive. The end was
near.
The General discussed the possibility of getting rid of Getterlow. I
wrote to Ben, but didn’t hear from him, so didn’t know where I’d find
him when the time came.
—10—
We were in Tours five days but I was too tired to do anything but work
with the General. We had a busy trip from Dijon on, jumping all over
this section of France, visiting aviation fields, all kinds of training
schools, hospitals, ordnance depots, quartermaster depots, motor
transport parks, and God only knows what else. We were in all kinds of
crazy places, including Cosne, Issoudun, Romorantin, Orléans and Blois,
and now we were back in the headquarters of the S.O.S.
Found two letters here. One from Ben informed me that they finally threw
him out of the infirmary and put him in a Casuals company. I’d have to
move fast now or he’d be getting sent up to some replacement outfit, and
once a man got up in that neck of the woods it took a lot of officerial
influence to get him out.
I also had a letter from Jay-Jay, which gave me something to think
about. He said he was asked by Aunt Elinor to look me up and see how I
was getting along. Said he hadn’t heard from my sister for months—“Do
you know where she is now?” Wanted me to let him know if I ever got near
Paris or Tours or Chaumont, because he was still in the entertainment
business and those were the centers of activity. Said he’d be glad to
see me any time I could get away.
Let us laugh! Wasn’t he condescending! A sweet chance he had of getting
a letter from this soldier! Why, he’d know my writing at once.
I suppose he had written to me at home and wondered why I hadn’t
answered. But Aunt Elinor hadn’t said anything about a letter from him.
Well, anyway, he needn’t think he could make me put my foot in it: I
would write a letter to him and send it to Aunt Elinor to remail. That’d
take over a month but it would throw him off the track. I’d make the
letter very general and if the censor took the trouble to look at it
he’d think it was a letter I’d received from a girl in the States. That
for you, Mr. Wise Guy!
I heard we were going back to Paris soon. I couldn’t decide whether to
be glad or sorry, for the Lord only knew what’d happen there. I wanted
like the devil to see the Captain, but I’d have hated like hell to meet
Jay-Jay.
Wished I knew where Leon was. He was either here or on his way
over—wherever he was I didn’t want to be. No one town could be large
enough for both of us: not in this man’s army.
—11—
Wagoner Getterlow ceased to be a wagoner. The General finally decided
that our chauffeur couldn’t stand too much freedom.
Of course, as soon as I knew a change had been decided upon and that a
new driver had to be got at once, I suggested Ben.
Naturally, Chilblaines had to be present at the moment to pipe up, “Has
he ever done any driving over here?”
“Oh, yes!” I lied glibly. “Driven a lot, but now he’s just out of the
infirmary and is with a Casuals company at Le Mans. He knows all about
cars.”
“I don’t think he is a fit—” Chilblaines began.
But the General interrupted to say, “If you are sure he will prove
satisfactory, Sergeant, make out a request for his transfer and speak to
the personnel officer about it at once. We mustn’t be bothered too much
with a matter of this kind.”
So I made out a request and spoke to the officer who had charge of that
line of stuff—I mean, of personnel and transfers. Private Benjamin
Garlotz would burst in any time now.
Esky acted as if he knew something was up. He’d eat Ben alive when he
saw him. I thought I could almost kiss the big galoot myself—but
unfortunately kissing wasn’t in the manual of arms and it wouldn’t be
very soldierly. Anyway I knew I’d feel better with him around.