watched a boy, not twenty yet, reassure two women
who counted the hours before we would be off the
Irish coast. All along he had interested us in a
sorrowful fashion, because he had been wounded
in the head at Ypres, and a disability had remained which made him of no more value in
battle to his country. Always he seemed older
than the old men, as if he could never forget and
be young again. A tall, straight, ruddy-faced
man, nearly at middle age, joined him. The newcomer, following his custom, wore no hat. We
gathered around him, because, since he was on
his way to the front from Canada, whatever he
said seemed to possess a special eloquence.
"Funny time for fire drill! Splendid nerve tonic though. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the Huns took a shot at us. It's about due."
"I want to die with my boots off and without fame," a man said plaintively.
We laughed, returning to our cards, our reading, or our naps. The boy who had fought at Ypres demanded a game of deck tennis. He had no difficulty finding three other players, for the growing tenseness was unfriendly to reserve. Already every one knew every one else.
An elderly gentleman from the South wandered restlessly across the smoke-room and interrupted the bridge game.
