"So she won't wait for you when you are late?"
"Not a minute over time," he said with pride. "I used to be a terror when I first knew 'er; kep' 'er waitin' abaht. She soon cured me, did F. Steel."
"You are a funny little bird, Pinker," said the Sister, passing.
"Lil bird, am I?" He tucked his cardboards carefully into his locker and followed her up the ward firing repartee.
I sewed my splint. In all walks of life men keep one waiting. I should like to ask the huge and terrible girl about her cure.
Monk is the ugliest man I have ever seen. He has a squint and a leer, his mouth drops at both sides, he has no forehead, and his straight, combed hair meets his eyebrows—or rather, his left eyebrow, since that one is raised by a cut. He has the expression of a cut-throat, and yet he is quite young, good-tempered, and shy.
When Monk was working at a woollen belt Pinker said: "Workin' that for yer girl?... You got a girl, Monk?"
Monk squinted sidelong at Pinker and rubbed his hands together like a large ape.
"'E ain't got no girl," shrilled Pinker. "Monk ain't got no girl. You don' know what a girl is, do yer, Monk?"
Although they do much more to help each other than I ever saw done in the officers' ward, yet one is always saying things that I find myself praying the other hasn't heard.