Echoes of the War | Page 8

if I ever get to Berlin, I believe I'll find you there waiting for me!'
'With a cup of tea for you in my hand.'
'Yes, and'--heartily--'very good tea too.'
He has partaken heavily, he is now in high good humour.
'Kenneth, we could come back by Paris!'
'All the ladies,' slapping his knees, 'likes to go to Paris.'
'Oh, Kenneth, Kenneth, if just once before I die I could be fitted for a

Paris gown with dreamy corsage!'
'You're all alike, old covey. We have a song about it.' He sings:
'Mrs. Gill is very ill, Nothing can improve her But to see the Tuileries
And waddle through the Louvre.'
No song ever had a greater success. Mrs. Dowey is doubled up with
mirth. When she comes to, when they both come to, for there are a pair
of them, she cries:
'You must learn me that,' and off she goes in song also:
'Mrs. Dowey's very ill, Nothing can improve her.'
'Stop!' cries clever Kenneth, and finishes the verse:
'But dressed up in a Paris gown To waddle through the Louvre.'
They fling back their heads, she points at him, he points at her. She
says ecstatically:
'Hairy legs!'
A mad remark, which brings him to his senses; he remembers who and
what she is.
'Mind your manners!' Rising, 'Well, thank you for my tea. I must be
stepping.'
Poor Mrs. Dowey, he is putting on his kit.
'Where are you living?'
He sighs.
'That's the question. But there's a place called The Hut, where some of
the 2nd Battalion are. They'll take me in. Beggars.' bitterly, 'can't be
choosers.'
'Beggars?'
'I've never been here before. If you knew'--a shadow coming over
him--'what it is to be in such a place without a friend. I was crazy with
glee, when I got my leave, at the thought of seeing London at last, but
after wandering its streets for four hours, I would almost have been
glad to be back in the trenches.'
'If you knew,' he has said, but indeed the old lady knows.
'That's my quandorum too, Kenneth.'
He nods sympathetically.
'I'm sorry for you, you poor old body,' shouldering his kit. 'But I see no
way out for either of us.'
A cooing voice says, 'Do you not?'
'Are you at it again!'

She knows that it must be now or never. She has left her biggest guns
for the end. In her excitement she is rising up and down on her toes.
'Kenneth, I've heard that the thing a man on leave longs for more than
anything else is a bed with sheets, and a bath.'
'You never heard anything truer.'
'Go into that pantry, Kenneth Dowey, and lift the dresser-top, and tell
me what you see.'
He goes. There is an awful stillness. He returns, impressed.
'It's a kind of a bath!'
'You could do yourself there pretty, half at a time.'
'Me?'
'There's a woman through the wall that would be very willing to give
me a shakedown till your leave is up.'
He snorts.
'Oh, is there!'
She has not got him yet, but there is still one more gun.
'Kenneth, look!'
With these simple words she lets down the bed. She says no more; an
effect like this would be spoilt by language. Fortunately he is not made
of stone. He thrills.
'My word! That's the dodge we need in the trenches.'
'That's your bed, Kenneth.'
'Mine?' He grins at her. 'You queer old divert. What can make you so
keen to be burdened by a lump like me?'
'He! he! he! he!'
'I tell you, I'm the commonest kind of man.'
'I'm just the commonest kind of old wifie myself.'
'I've been a kick-about all my life, and I'm no great shakes at the war.'
'Yes, you are. How many Germans have you killed?'
'Just two for certain, and there was no glory in it. It was just because
they wanted my shirt.'
'Your shirt?'
'Well, they said it was their shirt.'
'Have you took prisoners?'
'I once took half a dozen, but that was a poor affair too.'
'How could one man take half a dozen'?'
'Just in the usual way. I surrounded them.'

'Kenneth, you're just my ideal.'
'You're easily pleased.'
He turns again to the bed, 'Let's see how the thing works.' He kneads
the mattress with his fist, and the result is so satisfactory that he puts
down his kit.
'Old lady, if you really want me, I'll bide.'
'Oh! oh! oh! oh!'
Her joy is so demonstrative that he has to drop a word of warning.
'But, mind you, I don't accept you as a relation. For your personal glory,
you can go on pretending to the neighbours; but the best I can say for
you is that