"Well, I went off on leave from the convalescent camp, lost my pass, and forgot when I had to return. I came back seven days late. Things took a turn; Nick Nock reported me and I was taken before a medical board. The board had to determine whether I was in a fit state to survive seven days in jankers or not. Three or four old and wise men pummelled me, sounded me, and did a lot of other things. Finally they discharged me from the army. God! I could jump over the moon with joy. I bought a suit of civvies, brown tweeds, patent leather boots, and a nice white collar, a dainty little tie, a velours hat. I was quite a swell. Some of my friends live in London and I stopped with them. They were going to help me, get me a bomb-proof job with good pay and lazy hours. I had been a bit of a rake before the war, but they did not mind that. A boy must have his fling. I had proved myself a man when the country called. You know the things they would say, stock phrases that are worthy of an auctioneer. I liked it for a little, Bowdy; but then, the small teacups, the small talk, the little tit-bits of scandal...." Flanagan got to his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets, and looked at Bowdy. "I used to lie awake at night--the beds were so damned soft and uncomfortable--and think of the nights spent out in the trenches, sitting in a snug dug-out with the rain pattering on the roof, or through it," Flanagan went on, fixing his gaze at the candle. "Again my thoughts would run on the long night marches up the road, with the moonlight on the cobbles, and the big poplars standing upright like pompous sergeant-majors, away up to the star-shells, the big guns and the trenches. I thought of these things night after night, and I began to feel afraid. I knew that it was coming, I knew that I would leave England and come out to France again. I felt stifled at home; everything was so small and little. God, the tea is beginning to bubble already! "Do you remember, old man, that night when we lay in the orchard, waiting to go up to the trenches to attack?" he suddenly asked, thrusting his face almost into Bowdy's. "Do you mind the buses, crowded with soldiers carrying rifles at all angles, going by on the road, the star-shells flaring up in the sky, and the bayonets glittering? The buses--going, going like hell, and the stars above shining through the apple trees--the trees were in blossom then, if you mind.... Don't you remember it?" he asked. "I shall never forget it," Bowdy answered. "And the raids?" he questioned, in a slow voice. "Crawling out through the long grasses with the poppies flicking you in the face, your nerves tense, not knowing what the next moment would bring. I thought of these things day after day, and in the end I succumbed to the old lure.