"He looks like a hero, doesn't he?" said the same member of the Corps.
"No, he doesn't," laughed Hilda, "and that's the joke."
Smith reported for duty early next morning.
"We must christen the car in some real way," she said. "How shall it be, Smith?"
"Dixmude," he answered. He generally dealt in replies of one word. He was a city lad, slight in frame, of pale, tired face.
"Yes, there is always work at Dixmude," Hilda agreed.
They started on the six-mile run.
"What do you think of using black troops against white, miss?" asked Smith, after they had bowled along for a few minutes.