“Getting up,” Bert answered, drowsily.
“Is Arlette here yet?”
“Haven’t heard her.”
“What in thunder’s getting into her! Doesn’t she know a fellow’s got to have breakfast in the morning?”
“Huh—she isn’t due for quarter of an hour. What’s the sudden rush?”
Before he was fully clothed Arlette rapped on his closed door to demand his shoes, which he passed out to her, together with his puttees, and walked into Bert’s room, wearing bedroom slippers.
“Some uniform,” said Bert, eying the spectacle. “Ought to recommend it to the General Staff. Swagger, I call it. Now if you only wore red socks.... H’m! How you feeling this morning?”
“Hungry.”
“Surprising, seeing you didn’t eat anything all day yesterday.” Bert studied his friend’s face covertly and found reason for satisfaction. With more tact than his character warranted one to expect, he let the subject of yesterday rest there and did not again refer to it. He finished shaving in his usual leisurely manner, put on his blouse and belt, and was just in time to receive his shoes and leggings from Arlette.
“Mind having dinner late to-night?” Ken asked.