"Thursday, 12.45 p.m.," I wrote. "Pleasantly entertained as usual by D Company. Refused a pressing invitation to stay to lunch, although it was a hot day and I had a long walk back to my own mess."
I handed the book back to Blake. He read it; and with one foot on the bottom step of the dugout I waited anxiously.
"Oh, I say, do stay to lunch," he said.
I gave a start of surprise.
"Oh, thanks very much," I said, and I took my foot off the step. "It would be rather—I think, perhaps—well, thanks very much."
Once begun, the book filled up rapidly. Subalterns from other companies used to call round for the purpose of being funny; I suppose that unconsciously I had been too humorous—anyway, the tone had been set. The bombing officer, I remember, vowed that Mrs. Blake's hospitality was so charming that he would bring his wife and family next time. A gunner officer broke into verse—a painful business. One way and another it was not long before the last page was reached.
"We must get the General for the last page," said Blake.
"Don't be an ass," said Rogers.
"Whatever's the matter? Don't you think he'd do it?"
"You wouldn't have the cheek to ask him."