"Hello!" I cried. The khaki seemed to restore my grip on things. "I say--hello!" He turned round and hobbled over to my window. "Wot's the trouble?" he said. "This shouting," I cried; "these people running like rabbits. What does it all mean?" "Wot! don't you know?" He smacked his lips in appreciation of the surprise he had in store for me. "Why, Fritz 'as took the count, 'e 'as." "Then,----" Confound it; what made my lips quiver so? "Then--it's peace?... You mean ... it's peace?" He nodded half-a-dozen times. "The war," he said, feeling the importance of his declaration, "is napoo. Kaiser Bill 'as 'opped the twig, and the hold firm of 'im and Gott is for sale, with the goodwill thrown in, I _don't_ think." I leaned out of the window, and we grasped hands. Futile.... Futile.... Futile. No--by Heaven, no! Not while we remember our dead; not while the spirit of comradeship still lives in the breasts of those who went out there; never, if the Britain of the future is worthy of her knights of the greatest crusade of all, and of the mothers who gave that which had sprung from their very heart-beats. "_Out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star there is pain._" Half-mad with joy, I rushed into the street and urged my hospitality on the mutilated soldier, who came into my den and took a seat by the fire, while I fetched a decanter and cigars that we might make the occasion a jovial one. As I came into the room I noticed that he was examining me curiously. "Hexcuse me," he said, "but if I may make so bold--wasn't you 'is pal?" "Good heavens!" I cried, a light bursting upon me. "You're the man with a face like a--like a----" I suppose I blushed. "Don't 'esitate," he grinned. "Many a time over there 'e told me you called me Pumpkin-Fice,' and, beggin' your pardon, sir, I likes it a sight better than 'Pest.'" "Then--it was Norman I saw in March?" "Ay." He sipped his glass meditatively. "'E lied about 'is 'eart, and was took O.K. late in 'fifteen. 'E was a ranker like the rest of us, but 'e was a proper gentleman, 'e was--that is, not just like we hunderstands the word in Hengland, but a _real_ gentleman. 'E never preached and 'e never whined, but them two heyes just kept twinklin', and whenever hany of us was a bit windy, 'e 'd sort of buck us hup by that there smile 'e 'ad. I ain't much on langwidge, not 'avin' no eddication to speak of, or I'd hexplain better; but when little Sawyers got 'is from a sniper, and 'e knew 'is ticket was punched for to go West, the sergeant says, 'Fetch the padre,' but Sawyers 'e says, 'No, it's Bubbles I want.'... I ain't much on religion neither, and I've done a 'eap o' filthy swearin', which I guess is all down agin me in the book; but wherever Bubbles is goin' is good enough for me, whether it's brimstin and blazes or hangels playin' 'arps." "Tell me"--I dreaded the answer to the question--"where is he now?"