Short stories, American; War stories, American; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
"'I, like a fool, listened to her, and gave an unwilling assent. The
men looked their gratitude. Jean, an old manservant, led them out to
the barn, where an abundance of hay had been spread for their beds. I
was following when a whisper in my ear made my head swim:
"'"Don't go yet, my Sergeant, stay with me."
"'I stayed, worse luck.
"'We sat on a settee, talking, and her arm stole around my waist. I
wasn't slow, either, and as you know, mate, I have a pretty good reach.
Once she spoke to me in French, but I shook my head in bewilderment.
In a few minutes the servant returned, and Adrienne--she told me her
name--called him to her, and said, "Jean, go down into the wine cellar
and get some of that old port and give it to the soldiers of England.
Poor boys, it will warm them." She added something in French I could
not understand, then she said: "Leave a bottle here for the Sergeant
and me."
"'I protested against more wine for the boys. Her pleading overruled my
good judgment, and I consented. The servant left to do her mission, and
I proposed. Her answer was a kiss. I was the happiest man in France.
"'Presently Jean returned with a basketful of bottles, and placing
one, which had the cork removed, on the table, he silently withdrew in
the direction of the stable.
"'Adrienne poured out a glass of wine and offered it to me, but as my
head was already beginning to buzz, I refused it. With a shrug of the
shoulders and a peculiar sort of smile, which made me feel ashamed of
my rudeness, she said: "Perhaps my Sergeant will refuse to kiss me."
"'This came as a jolt to me, because our English girls are not so free
in asking for kisses. I fancy something in my face betrayed my feelings
in the matter, for she came right back at me: "I see the English
sergeant does not understand the customs of France,--" And she puckered
up her lips and I kissed her.
"'Well, mate, as is usual under the circumstances, we talked, or at
least I did. She did most of the listening. That wine sure untied my
tongue; another drink or two and I would have promised her Buckingham
Palace. I was just fool crazy in love with her. Once I caught her
stifling a yawn when I was in the midst of one of my verbal barrages,
but the pretty smile which quickly followed once again had me in a
fool's paradise.
"'My back was to the door leading to the stables. Suddenly it opened. I
sprang for my rifle which I had left leaning against the table close at
hand. It wasn't there. I faced around and there in the door stood Lance
Corporal Hawkins. A pretty looking sight he was, with hay in his hair,
cap gone, and no rifle. One look at his eyes was enough. They were red
rimmed and watery. The fool was drunk, I could see that at a glance,
but he seemed to be fighting it off; he wabbled on his pins, blinked
his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with his hand as if bewildered.
"'Angry at being disturbed, I yelled at him, "Well, what do you want?
What's the matter?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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