Ernest and I were seated by the river. It was very pleasant there, and
it seemed a small thing to us that we were both still disabled.
"Did you ever say to yourself, when you were out there, that if ever you
got out of it alive you'd never grumble at anything again?'" said
Ernest.
My reply was in the affirmative.
We were silent for a while, remorse weighing heavily upon us.
"The worst case," said Ernest at length, "was when I got my commission
and came home for my kit."
I composed myself to listen, piously determined not to grumble however
tedious I might find his recital.
"We'd been near a place called Ypres," he began.
"I seem to have heard the name," I murmured.
"I hadn't been sleeping really well for a week--we'd been in the
trenches that time--and before that I had lain somewhat uneasily upon a
concrete floor."
"Yes, concrete is hard, isn't it?" I said.
"We came out at three in the morning, and arrived at our billets about
seven. I knew this commission was on the _tapis_--French word meaning
carpet--so I hung round not daring to turn in. At eleven o'clock I had
orders to push off home to get my kit. You'll guess I didn't want asking
twice. I made my way to the railhead at once in case of any hitch, and
had to wait some time for a train. It was a goods train when it came,
but it did quite well and deposited me outside the port of embarkation
about nine o'clock at night. I walked on into the port and found the
ship that was crossing next morning. I went below in search of a cabin.
There was a French sailor there to whom I explained my need."
"How?" I asked, for I do not share Ernest's opinion of his mastery of
the French language, but he ignored this.
"It was dark down there," he went on, "too dark for him to see that I
was in a private's uniform, so I put on a bit of side and he took me for
an officer."
"A French officer?"
"Very likely. Anyway he found me a beautiful cabin with a lovely couch
in it all covered with plush. You would have thought I should want
nothing but to be left to sleep; but no, I saw that the officer in the
next cabin had a candle, and there was no candle for me. Instantly my
worst instincts were aroused. I felt I was being put upon. I demanded a
candle. The sailor declared there wasn't one left."
"You're sure he understood what you were asking for?"
"Yes, I know that candle is boogy, thank you. I argued with him for ten
minutes and then turned in, grumbling. Queer, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
I sat there for a while, thinking over Ernest's story, which had, it
seemed to me, something of the tract about it.
Later the midges began to attack us.
"Aren't these midges absolutely--" I began, and then stopped,
remembering Ernest's tract. It only shows, as I said to Ernest, that we
may learn something even from the most unlikely people.
* * * * *
"Wanted, a strong Boy, about 15 years old, for bottling, &c. The
Brewery, Brixham."
_The Western Guardian._
"Waiter, bring me a bottle of the boy."
* * * * *
"... contest the right of the Spanish authorities to intern damaged
submarines seeking refuse in neutral ports."--_Star._
The Spanish authorities are expected to reply that if that is what the
U-boats are after there is no need for them to leave home.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Artist._ "BY GAD! OLD PARSLEY'S SURPASSED
HIMSELF. LAMB CUTLETS, TWO CHOCOLATE CAKES AND THREE LUMPS OF SUGAR.
RATTLING GOOD SUBJECT."
_Second Artist._ "I THOUGHT OF ONE NEARLY AS GOOD, BUT COULDN'T AFFORD
THE MODELS."]
* * * * *