"Hurrah!" I said, "I've got a letter from the Front."
"Well done!" said Francesca. "Who's it from?"
"From Walter. It's not a very long one."
"That doesn't matter a bit. The great thing is to have one from the
Front, even if it's only to thank you for a pair of socks."
"Mine's better than that," I said. "It runs into nearly two pages."
"Yes," she said, "but it doesn't tell you much, now does it?"
"No, to tell you the truth it doesn't. They're under an honourable
obligation, you know, not to reveal things."
"Poor boys! It isn't much a Second-Lieutenant could reveal, is it.
There's nothing said in your letter about Sir DOUGLAS HAIG having
called Walter up to Headquarters----"
"You mustn't say Headquarters; you must say G.H.Q. if you want to
impress people."
"I'm not talking to people; I'm talking to you. There's nothing said in
your letter, is there, about Walter having been asked by Sir DOUGLAS
HAIG to draw up a plan for the Big Push?"
"No, there isn't; but Walter would draw up a dozen if he were asked.
He's that sort."
"Don't talk about my first cousin once removed in that flippant way."
"I'm not."
"You are, and it's most ungrateful of you."
"Ungrateful?"
"Yes, ungrateful. He's written you a letter that you'll be able to
chat about for a fortnight. I can hear you mentioning it to your
train-friends, Major Boger and Dr. Apthorpe. You'll bring it in in a
careless kind of way. 'I've had a letter,' you'll say, 'from a chap at
the Front, a cousin of my wife's, and he tells me they're expecting a
move now at any moment.' Then they'll both say, 'Ah,' as if they didn't
think much of your chap, and each of them will produce a chap of his
own with some highly private information about the CROWN PRINCE having
been taken to a lunatic asylum in a motor-car so heavily iron-clad that
nobody could see who was inside, but he was recognised by his shrieks;
and Dr. Apthorpe will cap it all with some cock-and-bull story about
German ships having bombarded one another in the Canal last week. And
so you'll get to London."
"Francesca," I said, "you are a holy terror. How do you know all these
things? You have never travelled to London with Major Boger and Dr.
Apthorpe, and yet you're able to misrepresent them as if you'd heard
them speak every day of your life. It's wonderful."
"Clever fellow," said Francesca; "we won't pursue the question of your
boastings. They're innocent enough, I dare say. Let me hear what Walter
actually does say in his letter."
"Well," I said, "he doesn't actually say very much. The weather is
fine, he says, and his particular lot have been having rather a slack
time lately. There was a stampede of horses last week, but his Battery
was not involved in it, and would I mind sending him a packet or two
of chocolate, some strong brown boot-laces and a briar-root pipe, he
having broken his last one, and he's never felt fitter in his life, and
anybody who wants to know what health is had better come out to France
at once. That's about all; but you can read it for yourself." I handed
it over to her and she skimmed through it.
"I'll tell you what," she said, "I strongly advise you not to show this
letter about."
"I certainly shall show it," I said, "but only to friends."
"Well," she said, "I wouldn't even do that, unless you want to get
Walter into trouble."
"What nonsense!" I said. "It's the most discreet and honourable letter
I ever received.".
"Yes," she said, "but it's so cheerful. If certain newspapers got hold
of it there wouldn't be any peace for Second-Lieutenant Walter Carlyon.
He'd be told he was like all other Englishmen--he didn't take a serious
view of the War. Then they'd say that he was one of the men who were
responsible for the French not understanding us, and for the Russians
failing to appreciate our efforts, which, indeed, could hardly be
called efforts at all, and for the Italians despising us as we deserved
to be despised for tolerating such a Government as we were afflicted
with--and lots more of the same sort, all because poor Walter doesn't
go about in a state of perpetual gloom, as if he expected the whole of
Great Britain to be sunk into the sea the next minute."
"Francesca," I said, "your warmth is excusable, and there's a good deal
in what you say, but I shall show Walter's letter all the same."
"Well," she said, "when the storm bursts I shall let him know whom he's
got to thank for it."
"I shall write to him," I said, "and warn him to write a really
pessimistic letter next time, so that I may show it to influential
people and get his name up."
"It'll be no good," she said. "Walter isn't one of that sort. He 's
cursed with a profound and unreasoning belief in his country, and,
being an Englishman, he'll go to his grave if necessary believing that
England is bound to win the War."
"And, by Jove," I said, "I thoroughly agree with him."
"Yes," she said, "and so do I, but it doesn't do to say so to everybody
nowadays."