Monty stared across the stream at the thousand lights of Devonport and Plymouth. He was listening to the voices in the lounge singing: "When you come to the end of a perfect day"; and he waited to hear the song through, before he pursued:
"There was one youngster who, the morning of an attack, gave me a long envelope. He said: 'I'll leave this with you, padre. It's my—it's my—' And he laughed. Laughed, mind you. You see, he was shy of the word 'will'; it seemed so silly...."
Monty stopped; and finally added:
"Neither did that boy know he was a Poem."
"Go on," said Doe, "I could listen all night."
"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" admitted Monty. "Inspires one to see only the Beauty there is in everything. Isn't there Beauty in Major Hardy's black eye?"
"It's a Poem—what," laughed Doe.
"You may laugh, but that's just what it is. He said that his heart beat at one with the heart of a junior subaltern; and it does that because it's the heart of a boy. And the heart of a boy is matter for a poem."
"By Jove," said Doe, "you seem to be in love with all the world."
"So I am," Monty conceded, pleased with Doe's poetic phrase; "and with the young world in particular."