Montague considered. "No; I was a sort of social buffoon."
Waller considered. "Something in the plumbing line?" he ventured.
"Not exactly," answered Montague, and muttered, "Duration of the war—and six months after—with plebs like this!"
"I'm a carpenter by trade," vouchsafed Private Waller, and then emitted a shout of delight. "I say," he cried; "blime, if it ain't the missus!"
In a few moments they reached a little Englishwoman, not much more than a girl, who was guiding a baby-carriage containing a chubby little youngster of some two years of age.
"'Ello, Bill!" she said. "'Ow's the army?"
"Great," said her husband; "but meet my pal, Private Montague.—Private Montague, meet my old woman."
"Glad to know any friend of Bill's," said Mrs. Waller warmly.
Montague bowed. "Thank you," he said gravely. "You are giving up a lot in letting your husband go to the war."
"You said I had to, Emily."