"Weel," he observed, "I'm awa'." The revolving figure stopped in the midst of a gyration; the onlookers stared: smiles somehow evaporated.
"Going, Jock?" said one blankly. "Going!" echoed the rest. It sounded absurd. The Mess without Jock! The Navy without Jock!
"Aye." The speaker shook hands gravely with the First Lieutenant. "The war's over.... Ye'll no' want the R.N.R. any longer...." His smile was a forced one, and a chorus of protests and farewells drowned his next words. They crowded round him, wringing his hand, buffeting his shoulders, recalling in allusions and catchwords the familiar intimacy of all these years of war. By comparison the emotions of yesterday's farewells in the North seemed superficial. They would all meet again, somewhere under the White Ensign.... But Jock was going; their Jock: dour, tough seaman: incomparable messmate. This was the parting of the ways.
"Back to the Mer-r-chant Service—coals an' bananas.... Maybe we'll meet again, though." He made for the door, and there turned as if to survey the mess for the last time. "Eh! But I've had a guid time!" He appeared to search his vocabulary for adequate emphasis.
"A bluidy guid time," he said, and was gone.
XI
UNTO THE HILLS
(1913)
For two hours the train from Nice had crossed and recrossed the River Var, as if uncertain which bank it should pursue. The journey had been punctuated by stoppages at innumerable small stations, apparently to enable the engine-driver to discuss politics with the proprietors of adjacent sawmills. The guard took no part in these discussions, but remained aloof—albeit within earshot—until his confrère on the engine had scored his point. Then he blew a discordant blast on his horn, the driver climbed triumphantly back on to his engine, and we jolted on to the next political tourney-place.
Where the valley widens the line appeared to make up its mind and to decide definitely for the right bank. The sawmills and patches of Indian corn gave place to orchards and pretty farms; the mountains on either flank of the valley towered to more majestic altitudes. For perhaps the tenth time the brakes screeched, and we came to a standstill beside a deserted platform.