“Will he be all right?” I asked the other officers, as he disappeared on his way.
“Sure,” they both said, and then the quartermaster Continued: “Why, Padre, that’s just a little hors d’oeuvres for him, just a little appetizer, just enough to convince him that it’s time to take a little substantial food.” Then, as we lunched, they told me such wonderful stories of this officer’s capacity for food that I laughed and laughed all through the meal.
I could not attend the play till the third evening; George, who had gone both nights, seemed very anxious that I should see it. I had tea with the concert party the afternoon of the third day and in the evening I went to the play, and was given a very good seat.
I shall never forget that play given by those splendid boys on the Western Front. Even as I write these words the tears come to my eyes as they did that night, but they are tears of joy. It was a wonderful play—wonderful in its presentation, wonderful, especially, in its beautiful interpretation of the character of the Catholic priest—bubbling with gaiety and gladness, and spotless humor. I was transported with joy and amazement.
The curtain rose, disclosing the library of an Irish priest’s house, through the open window of which came in excellent harmony the sound of male voices singing:
“Och, Father O’Flynn, you’ve a wonderful way wid you.
All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,
All the young children are wild for to play wid you,
You’ve such a way wid you, Father avick!
Still for all you’ve so gentle a soul,