“Now, you don’t want to be bitter, chum. He liked you and he’s very grateful.”
After a moment or two George looked up. “What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’ll be getting along, too, by and by. It’s easier for me, being British. There are all sorts of places I can go. I might even join the Sarge if I feel like it.”
“Then, you do know where he’s going?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how he’s going. He might be on a ship in Salonika at this very moment for all I know. But I couldn’t say for certain. What I don’t know, nobody can make me tell.”
“So you’re just here to look after me. Is that it?”
“Well, I’ve got to pay off the boys, too, and clear up generally. I’m the adjutant, you might say.”
There was a silence. He looked round the room moodily. His eyes met George’s. Unsuccessfully, for once, he tried to grin.
“I tell you what, chum,” he said. “Now that the Sarge’s gone and everything, I reckon we’re both a bit down in the mouth today. We got hold of some German wine once. Kept it for special occasions, like last night. What about you and me having a bottle between us now?”
The sun was shining when George awoke the following morning. He looked at his watch and saw that it was eight o’clock. On the two previous mornings, Arthur had roused him, with a good deal of military noise, at seven.