He laughed. “This is ‘Kitchener’s Army,’” he said, “not the regular Army. Things are a bit different.” They were indeed!
So I slept on the idea and every moment it seemed to me better and better, until the following evening after tea, instead of going to the estaminet, I went down to squadron headquarters. For about five minutes I walked up and down in the mud, plucking up courage. I would rather have faced a Hun any day.
At last I went into the farmyard and knocked at the door. There were lights in the crack of the window shutters.
A servant answered the door.
“Is the Colonel in?” said I boldly.
He peered at me. “What the perishin’ ’ell do you want to know for?”
“I want to see him,” said I.
“And what the ’ell do you want to see him for?”
I was annoyed. It seemed quite likely that this confounded servant would do the St. Peter act and refuse me entrance into the gates.