“Oh, shan’t I? What would happen if I didn’t see that the right people get to the right place, with the right orders and right supplies, including you and your blessed flagwaggers?” “Nothing to what will happen if the troops once begin to regard the show as a matter of business! You haven’t got a shako and a big brown horse, but you must play up, as if you had!” “What rot you talk. I have a tin hat because it will stand shrapnel better than a shako. I have mules because they stand the life better than a horse?” “Yes, but do you admire your tin hat? Do you really care for mules!” Something made Dormer say in spite of himself: “I did once come across a man who cared!” “There, what did I tell you. He was winning the War!” (“Whatever did I tell him that for?” Dormer asked himself vexedly. “A nice song he’ll make of it.”) But he only said: “You’re all wrong, as usual. He did nothing of the sort. He just made a row in billets!” “Quite right too. Most of ’em deserve a row!” “Possibly, but he went the wrong way to work!” “Ah, that depends!” (Irritating brute!) “No, it doesn’t. Were you ever at Ypres?” “Was I not. I was hit at Hooge stables, and had to walk nearly a couple of miles to get to a dressing station!” “Well, then, you remember, in the back billets, a place called the ‘Spanish Farm’?” “Don’t I just. Great big old house, with a moat, and pasture fore and aft.” What a way to put it! “Well, this chap I’m telling you of, was billeted there. He was attached to a Trench Mortar Battery. He was in charge of the mules. He didn’t talk a lot of rot about it, as you suggest he should. One of his mules was wounded and the other sick. He broke down the front of the shrine at the corner of the pasture to get a bit of shelter for them!” The effect of this recital was not what Dormer expected. “That was an unspeakably shocking thing to do, worse than losing any number of mules!” “I suppose you’re a Catholic?” “Yes, I am!” “I thought as much. Well, I’m not, nor was this driver I’m telling you about. He just hated the waste and destruction of it all.” “So he destroyed something more precious and permanent.” “He thought a live mule was better than a dead saint.” “He was wrong!” And then the fellow shut up, got quite sulky. Dormer was delighted with his prowess in argument, waited a moment, turned on his side, and slept, as only men can who live in the open air, in continual danger of their lives, and who lose the greater portion of the night in ceaseless activity. * * * * *