The R.A.M.C. is strongly represented, doubtless to test
the purity of the refreshment provided. Even the Staff has torn itself
away from its arduous duties for the moment, as sundry red tabs
testify. In one corner sit four stout French civilians, playing a
mysterious card-game.
At the very next table we find ourselves among friends. Here are Major
Kemp, also Captain Blaikie. They are accompanied by Ayling, Bobby
Little, and Mr. Waddell. The battalion came out of trenches yesterday,
and for the first time found itself in urban billets. For the moment
haylofts and wash-houses are things of the dim past. We are living in
real houses, sleeping in real beds, some with sheets.
To this group enters unexpectedly Captain Wagstaffe.
"Hallo, Wagger!" says Blaikie. "Back already?"
"Your surmise is correct," replies Wagstaffe, who has been home on
leave. "I got a wire yesterday at lunch-time--in the Savoy, of all
places! Every one on leave has been recalled. We were packed like
herrings on the boat. Garcon, biere--the brunette kind!"
"Tell us all about London," says Ayling hungrily. "What does it look
like? Tell us!"
We have been out here for the best part of five months now. Leave
opened a fortnight ago, amid acclamations--only to be closed again
within a few days. Wagstaffe was one of the lucky few who slipped
through the blessed portals.
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