“That? Oh, that is the D.S.O.”
“What does that stand for?” asked Boone.
“Well, before the War it was popularly supposed to stand for ‘Dam Silly Officer!’ Since then, however, the military profession has risen in the eyes of the world; so it now means ‘Done Something or Other’!”
“And what did you get it for?” pursued the insatiable Boone.
Floyd laughed.
“Counting jam-tins at the Base!” he said.
“I suppose it was while counting jam-tins you lost your arm,” suggested the quiet voice of Major Bond.
Floyd laughed again.
“You are too sharp for me, Doctor,” he said. “I plead guilty. My left arm is an understudy. The original is astray somewhere around Beaumont Hamel. I have had to stay at home since then. But now I want to get back to my first question, Lieutenant. What are your impressions of this country—your first impressions? I really do want to know. I have been aching to ask you for the last hour, but I felt that I had to play up a little first. Monocle—vacant stare, and all that! The traditional Englishman, in fact. I felt you were entitled to meet one,” continued this eccentric man; “and I took especial pains to give you a good impersonation, because you may experience some difficulty in finding another. The fact is, the traditional Englishman is getting rare. We have all been shaken out of ourselves these days. After the War he may come back—perhaps. Perhaps not.” He sighed gently. “But at present I am here to supply you with information about the customs and institutions of this country. I am detailed for the job. I am paid for it. Please ask me questions, somebody?”
No one could resist this solemn appeal. First one query was proffered, then another. Presently the American passion for getting to the root of the matter was in full play.