Aurelle emerged from behind an unfolded copy of the Times.
"Things look very rotten," he said. "The Germans are taking heart again;
you are demobbing; the Americans are sailing away; and soon only we and the Italians will be left alone to face the European chaos——"
"Aurelle," said Colonel Parker, "take off your coat and come and learn the one-step—that'll be a jolly sight better than sitting moping there all the evening."
"You know I don't dance, sir."
"You're very silly," said Parker. "A man who doesn't dance is an enemy of mankind. The dancer, like the bridge-player, cannot exist without a partner, so he can't help being sociable. But you—why, a book is all the company you want. You're a bad citizen."
The doctor emptied his glass of brandy at one gulp, removed his coat, and joined the colonel in his attack upon the young Frenchman.
"A distinguished Irish naturalist, Mr. James Stephens," he said, "has noticed that love of dancing varies according to
innocence of heart. Thus children, lambs and dogs like dancing. Policemen, lawyers and fish dance very little because they are hard-hearted. Worms and Members of Parliament, who, besides their remarkable all-round culture, have many points in common, dance but rarely owing to the thickness of the atmosphere in which they live. Frogs and high hills, if we are to believe the Bible——"
"Doctor," interrupted the general, "I put you in charge of the gramophone; top speed, please."