“Merely a matter of damage in billets as I said.” “Go on. There’s always damage in billets. You must ha’ done heaps, haven’t you? I have. There’s something more in it than that.” “Well, there is. Perhaps it will be a lesson to you not to go too far with other people’s property.” “I say, don’t get stuffy. What did the feller do?” “He broke into a shrine.” “I say, that’s a bit thick.” “It was!” “What did he do it for? Firewood?” “No. He wanted to shelter a couple of mules!” “Good man. Don’t blame him!” “No!” “But they can’t crime him for a thing like that?” “They will if they can catch him.” “Go on!” “It didn’t stop at that.” Once more it seemed to Dormer that a good lesson might do no harm to the light-headed youth that Andrews represented, and several of whom were listening, anxiously from that corner of the ward. “Did G.H.Q. take it up?” “Yes. They had to. The Mayor of the village came to make an official inquiry and the Battery made fun of him.” “Lumme! I bet they did!” “They should not have done so. That made the French authorities take it up. Goodness knows where it will end!” “End in our fighting the French,” said some one. Dormer felt that it was high time to put his foot down. “You may be privileged to talk like that while you’re in hospital. But I don’t recommend you to do so outside. You ought to have the sense to know that we don’t want to fight anyone, we most certainly don’t want to fight some one else after Germans. In any case, we don’t want to do the fighting in England!” There was a dead silence after he had spoken, and he rose, feeling that he had impressed them. He stumped out of the ward without another word, went to the Mess, rang and demanded his car. The Orderly Officer would have liked to detain him, insisted on the possible state of Étaples, but he would not hear of it. In those few hours he had had enough and more than enough of the Base--the place where people talked while others Did--the place where the pulse of the War beat so feebly. He felt he would go mad if he stayed there, without sufficient occupation for his mind. His car appeared and he soon left the palace and the birchwoods and was rattling over the bridge into Étaples. “Now for it!” he thought. But no policeman warned him off this time. He soon saw why. The streets had resumed their normal appearance. He might have known. That fancy of his, about the Headless Man, came back to him with its true meaning. What could they do, all those “Other Ranks,” as they were designated? Just meander about, fight the police, perhaps. But they had no organization, no means of rationing or transport. Of course, they had had to go back to their respective camps with their tails between their legs in order to get fed.