MY DEAR CHARLES,--I feel some hesitation in passing the following
story on to you, less from the fear of what it will divulge to the
enemy than from the fear of what it may divulge to our own people. As
far as the enemy is concerned be it stated boldly that the train was
going to Paris and "I" got into it at Amiens. Yes, HINDENBURG, there
_is_ a place called Paris and there _is_ a place called Amiong. Now
what are you going to do about it? As far as our own people are
concerned it is asked of them that, if ever they come to read it, they
may not inquire too closely as to who "I" may be.
It is a long train and there is only one dining-car. Those who don't
get into the car at Amiens don't dine; there is accordingly some
competition, especially on the part of the military element, of which
the majority is proceeding to Paris on leave and doesn't propose to
start its outing by going without its dinner. Only the very fit or the
very cunning survive. Having got in myself among the latter category
I was not surprised to see, among the former category, a large and
powerful Canadian Corporal.
If he can afford to pay for his dinner there is no reason, I suppose,
why even a corporal should not dine. If he can manage to snaffle a
seat in the car there is certainly no reason why a French Commandant
should not dine. There is every reason, I imagine, for railway
companies to furnish their dining-cars with those little tables for
two which bring it about that a pair of passengers, who have never
seen each other before and have not elected to meet on this occasion,
find themselves together, for a period, on the terms of the most
complete and homely intimacy. Lastly, the attendant had every reason
to put the Corporal and the Commandant to dine together, for there was
nowhere else to put either of them.
What would have happened if this had taken place ten years ago, and
the French Commandant had been an English Major? The situation, of
course, simply could not have arisen; it would have been unthinkable.
But if it had arisen the train would certainly have stopped for good;
probably the world would have come to an end. As it was, what did
happen? Let me say at once that both the Corporal and the Commandant
behaved with a generosity which was entirely delightful; the
Corporal's was pecuniary generosity, the Commandant's generosity of
spirit. This was as it should be, and both were true to type.
Quick though the French are at the uptake, it took the good Commandant
just a little while to settle down to the odd position. This was not
the size and shape and manner of man with whom he was used to take
his meals. As an officer one feels one's responsibilities on these
public occasions, and I felt I ought to intervene and to do something
to rearrange the general position. But at the start I caught the
Corporal's eye, and there was in it such a convincing look of
"Whatever I may do I mean awfully well," that I just sat still and
did nothing.
The awkward pause was over before the soup was finished. Rough
good-nature and subtle good sense soon combined to eliminate arbitrary
distinctions. The Commandant won the first credit by starting a
conversation; it was really the only thing to do. Had the Commandant
and I been opposite each other we should probably have dined in polite
silence. But the Corporal was one of those red-faced burly people with
whom you have, if you are close to them, either to laugh or fight.
The Commandant was not inwardly afraid; he was innately polite. He
talked pleasantly to his _vis-à-vis_. The Corporal, a trifle abashed
at first, listened deferentially, but as the good food enlivened him
he ceased to be abashed and became cordial. From cordial he became
affable, from affable affectionate, and from affectionate he passed to
that degree of friendship in which you lean across the dinner-table,
tap a man on the shoulder and call him "old pal." Finally, he insisted
upon the Commandant cracking with him a bottle of champagne. I give
the Commandant full marks for not persisting in his refusal.
A draught or two of champagne has, as you may be aware, the effect of
developing to an extreme any friendly feelings you may at the moment
happen to possess ...
The train chanced to stop just after dinner was finished, and the
Commandant, seizing his opportunity, hurriedly paid his bill and got
into another carriage. My _vis-à-vis_ also left the car, though I must
confess that I had not stood _him_ so much as a glass of beer. I and
the Canadian Corporal were left facing each other, and the position
was such that I couldn't avoid his eye. I had no feelings with regard
to him, but I simply could not smile at him, since I do not like
champagne. So I suppose I must have frowned at him; anyhow, he came
along and sat down at my table in order to explain at length that he
was not drunk.
He wasn't drunk, and I had never said he was, and I was not in the
least interested in his theme, until he got to the point of what his
main reason was for not being drunk. This, I admit, interested me
deeply. "When we get to Parry," said he, "we shall be met by Military
Police, and they will ask to see our papers. And if my papers weren't
in order and if I wasn't in order myself I should be put under arrest
and sent back again. And I don't mean to be sent back, and I have all
my papers in order and I'm in order myself." And, dash it all, the
fellow was right, and when we got to the Gare du Nord there were the
Military Police as large as life, and clearly there was no avoiding
them.
At first I didn't quite know what to do about it, but a little thought
decided me. "There are your M.P.," I said to the Corporal, as we
trooped slowly out of the dining-car. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you
to come along with me and interview one of them." Giving him no time
to argue, I led him straight to the Police Sergeant and insisted
upon this case being dealt with before all others. "I must ask you,
Sergeant, to make this man produce his papers. I have reason to doubt
whether he is in order."
The Corporal began to expostulate, but the Sergeant adopted the
none-of-that-I-know-all-about-your-sort attitude which is so
admirable in these officials. The Corporal produced some papers and
tendered them indignantly. The Police Sergeant remained impassively
unconvinced, but gave me one fleeting look, as if he wondered whether
I had put him on to a good thing. "There are papers and papers," said
I, as if I too knew all about the business. "Let us see if they are in
order." The Sergeant's instinct had already told him that the papers
were quite in order, and he was all for cutting the business short and
getting out of it as quickly as he could. But I insisted upon the most
minute examination and would not give in and admit my mistake until
the Sergeant practically ordered us both off the station.
Having given the Sergeant to understand that he was to blame for
the Corporal's papers being in order, I allowed myself to be passed
on. The Corporal followed me; he wanted an explanation. When we got
outside the station I let him catch me up, because I thought he was
entitled to one.
"Will you allow me to ask why you did that, Sir?" he said very
indignantly but not rudely. "You knew that I had my papers, Sir, and
that they were in order."
"Yes," I said. "But I knew that my own weren't."
His cheeks suffused with the most jovial red I have ever seen.
"In the very strictest confidence, Corporal," I said, "_I_ haven't any
papers."
I didn't know that a human laugh could be so loud. On the whole I
think it was a good thing that we had arrived in Paris after closing
time, since otherwise, in spite of my dislike of the stuff, I'm sure
that three more bottles of the most expensive brand would have been
cracked. I should have had to stand one; he would have positively
insisted on standing two.
Yours ever,