“I couldn’t say, sir,” began Davies.
“But I can,” said I. “Look here, you must just set a limit somewhere. I know I said you must get some coal, somewhere. But I wasn’t exactly thinking of bagging the C.O.’s coal. As a matter of fact he was slightly annoyed, though doubtless if he knew it was No. 14 Davies, “B” Company orderly, he would abate his wrath. Do you realise this is a very serious offence?”
Davies’ mouth wavered. He could never quite understand this method of procedure. He looked at the blazing fire, and his eyes twinkled. Then he understood.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“All right,” I replied. “Don’t let it occur again.”
And it never did—at least, not headquarters coal.
We did not get back to Morlancourt till nearly half-past three the next day. Things were not going well in our billet at the butcher’s shop. Gray, the cook, and two of the servants had been sent on early to get the valises from the quartermaster’s stores, and to have a meal ready. We arrived to find no meal ready, and what was worse, the stove not lit. Coal could not be had from the stores, was the statement that greeted us.
“What the blazes do you mean?” shouted Dixon. We were really angry as well as ravenous; for it was freezing hard, and the tiles on the floor seemed to radiate ice-waves.
“Have you asked Madame if she can lend us a little to go on with?” I queried.