"Here," said the Captain when he tracked me down, "don't try that game on again or you'll have to take the early parade to-morrow. Besides, you're supposed to be Company Interpreter, and you've no right to leave me to the mercy of two savage grooms like that. I advise you to take care, young man." My qualifications for the post of Company Interpreter lie in the fact that I once, in company of various other youths of my age, spent a fortnight in and around the Casino at Trouville. Peters of our company knows a long list of nouns taking "x" instead of "s" in the plural, but my knowledge is considered more practical--more French. And now comes a confession. To retain a reputation requires a lot of care, and to keep my position as Company Interpreter and outdo my rival Peters I always carried about with me a small pocket dictionary--if anyone ever noticed it, he probably mistook it for a Service Bible--in which I searched for words when occasion offered. I had carefully committed to memory the French equivalents for all the articles on our shopping list--a pot of honey, a bottle of Benedictine, a pair of unmentionable garments for Lawson, and a toothbrush--so that I walked across the main square with a proud mien and an easy conscience. Pride, they tell us, comes before a fall. We had successfully fought our way through the crowds of officers and mess waiters who swarm in Bailleul, we had completed our purchases, we were refreshing ourselves in a diminutive tea shop, when the Captain suddenly slapped his thigh. "By Jove," he said, "I promised to buy a new saucepan for the Company cook. Good job I remembered." What on earth was the French for a saucepan? I had no opportunity of looking in my dictionary, for it would look too suspicious if I were to consult my Service Bible during tea. "I don't think we shall have time to look for an ironmonger's," I said. "You blithering ass," said the Captain, "there's one just across the road. Besides, we don't have dinner before eight as a rule." The fates were working against me. I made one more effort to save my reputation. "We should look so funny, sir, riding through Bailleul with a great saucepan. We might send the Company cook to buy one to-morrow." I remained in suspense for a few moments as the Captain chose another cake. He looked up suddenly. "We'll get it home all right," he said, "but I believe the fact of the matter is that you don't know what to ask for."