Peter saluted; and the “Whirligig”—who prided himself on never forgetting a face—growled out, “You’re Jameson of the 4th Brigade, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Go ahead.”
For answer Peter, knowing his man, drew the application from his pocket. The General glanced at; noted the signatures at foot; said “Got a pencil?” . . .
“Hope you settle things all right,” he growled out as he handed back the document. “Q’s at the end of the passage. Tell ’em, with my compliments, to send this on to Corps at once, and mark it Urgent.”
Twenty-four hours later Peter, opening the big envelope from Artillery Headquarters, found his Leave Warrant. This time, the yellow ticket seemed to hold no promise of enjoyment!
PART TWENTY
THE HOME FRONT
§ 1
All through the thirty-six hours of his journey back to England, business nagged at the mind of Peter Jameson. He made the first twenty miles, Neuve Eglise—Strazeele—Borre—Hazebrouck, on horse-back; caught an afternoon train which crawled through Amiens and Abbeville, making Boulogne too late for dinner; slept at the Officers’ Club; and crossed the Channel in smooth sunshine on a boat which carried only the mails and a few fortunates to whom leave restrictions did not apply.