But the padre never lost a chance of pulling the doctor’s leg, and Mackintosh spent hours proving that the things which the padre says he saw could not possibly have happened. I should not like to call any padre a liar; but some of the Rev. Tim’s stories were rather tall, and the doctor’s scepticism always goaded him to fresh flights of imagination. The mess was a much livelier place after the Rev. Tim joined it. Before he attached himself to us we used to wonder why God made men like Mackintosh, and what use they are in the world. Now we know. Mackintosh exists to call out all that is best in our padre. One night--the battalion was back resting at the time--we had an Assistant Provost Marshal as a guest. The conversation turned on the subject of deserters, and our A.P.M. told us some curious stories about the attempts made by these poor devils to escape the net of the military organization. “The fact is,” said the A.P.M., “that a deserter hasn’t a dog’s chance, not here in France anyway. We are bound to get him every time.” “Not every time,” said the padre. “I know one who has been at large for months and you’ll never lay hands on him.” The A.P.M., who did not of course know our padre, sat up and frowned. “I don’t think it’s his fault that he’s a deserter,” said the padre. “He was forced into it. And anyway, even if I give you his name and tell you exactly where he is, you’ll not arrest him.” “If he’s a deserter, I will,” said the A.P.M. “No, you won’t,” said the padre. “Excuse my contradicting you, but when you hear the story you’ll see yourself that you can’t arrest the man. Mackintosh here is protecting him.” “Is it me?” said Mackintosh. “I’d like you to be careful what you’re saying. In my opinion it’s libellous to say that I’m protecting a deserter. I’ll have you court-martialled, Mr. O’Byrne, padre or no padre. I’ll have you court-martialled if you bring any such accusation against me.” “I don’t mean you personally,” said O’Byrne. “I am taking you as a representative of your profession. The man I am speaking of”--he turned politely to the A.P.M.--“is under the direct protection of the Army Medical. You can’t get at him.” Mackintosh bristled, to the padre’s great delight Anything in the way of an attack on the medical profession excites Mackintosh fearfully. “Binny is the man’s name,” said the padre. “17932, Private Alfred Binny. He was in the Wessex, before the hospital people made a deserter of him. I will give you his address if you like, but you’ll not be able to arrest him. If you try you’ll have every doctor in France down on you. They back each other up through anything, don’t they, Mackintosh?” “I’d like you to understand,” said Mackintosh, “that you can’t be saying things like that with impunity.” “Get on with the story, padre,” I said, “and don’t exasperate Mackintosh.”