"Hallo, Bobby!" he observed cheerfully. "That you? I didn't notice you before."
Bobby Little's hot eyes turned slowly on Wagstaffe, and he exclaimed feverishly:—
"Hallo, Major! Cheeroh! Did we stick to Longueval all right? I've been dreaming about it a bit, and—"
"We did," replied Wagstaffe—"thanks to 'A' Company."
Bobby Little's head fell back on the pillow, and he remarked contentedly:—
"Thanks awfully. I think I can sleep a bit now. So long! See you later!"
His eyes closed, and he sighed happily, as the long train slid out from the platform.
XIII
"TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS"
The smoking-room of the Britannia Club used to be exactly like the smoking-room of every other London Club. That is to say, members lounged about in deep chairs, and talked shop, or scandal—or slumbered. At any moment you might touch a convenient bell, and a waiter would appear at your elbow, like a jinnee from a jar, and accept an order with silent deference. You could do this all day, and the jinnee never failed to hear and obey.