The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Bittleson, the Colonel's batman. Bittleson had been deposed from his position as cook two days before for being dirty and careless. He now came forward with his cap on his head and saluted as only Bittleson could salute. "Beg pardon, Sir," he hesitated with a deprecatory smile, pointing with his thumb to the kitchen door, "but Rawson aint really up to cooking stuff like this here sparrow grass--not yet. P'raps I had better take a holt." "All right," agreed the Colonel, "are you sure you know how to cook it yourself?" "Sure," answered Bittleson with an inflexion that spoke volumes as to his knowledge. "Why when we was at Salisbury--" "Shut up," commanded the Colonel and Bittleson respectfully saluted and retired. When the dinner was served we waded through our passable soup, tough roast beef with "frits" and waited with pleasant anticipation for the chef'd'oeuvre of the evening. The asparagus duly arrived and was placed on the table by Bittleson himself with something of a flourish. "What the sam hill do you know about that!" said the disappointed Captain as all gazed at the plate full of white asparagus butts,--as hard as tent pegs. The tender edible portions had been thrown away. The Colonel turned to Bittleson but the latter was too quick for him and had already made a strategic retreat. "What a mess-president?" said the Captain, "Eh, what, Doc.?" "Go to blazes," growled the Colonel, "You can't get results without tools; pass the coffee pot." And they relapsed into silence for a few moments as they severally speculated on the number of Bittlesons they knew of in the army--in all ranks. "Well, I wonder how long this blinking war is going to last," queried the Colonel. "No signs of light on the horizon yet; Fritzy is some sticker." "I am fed up with the whole thing," returned the Captain snapping his cigarette butt viciously into a corner. "What are we out here for anyway; what are we fighting for; what is the whole bally business about; that is what I would like to know?" "What did you come out for?" asked the Colonel. "You had a good position and a good future in your profession over in the States; something made you come; what was it?" "I don't know what it was; chiefly a desire to be in the game and not be a quitter I guess; I hate the idea of my kids, if I ever have any, asking me what I had done in the great war. I went up to Forbes Bay to play golf and forget the war and suddenly found myself buying a ticket for Valcartier Camp and here I am." There was silence for a minute. "What did you come out for Colonel?" asked the Captain. "For adventure," replied the Colonel. "So did everybody else; anybody who says he didn't come out here for some such reason as that is a damned liar; don't you think so Doc.?"