He was dumfounded. Chilblaines was smiling behind his hand and I was having a hard time controlling myself, for the very idea of the General taking such souvenirs from a woman was utterly ludicrous.
Then he took a look at the end of the trunk and he, too, began to laugh. “Huh—that’s not my trunk!” he declared, reaching down to read the tag on it. “Colonel Everard Clark, Base Headquarters, Brest, Finistere.... Well, Colonel, this is very illuminating, indeed!” He stopped and looked at me, saying with a broad smile, “The Colonel must be running a laundry.”
Well, I thought the General was a good sport to take it like that. Even when I suggested that it was all probably due to a mistake on the part of the non-com who brought up the luggage, he just smiled and said, “We’ll just leave it open like that and wait for the Colonel to come for it.”
Sure enough, not many minutes elapsed before the Colonel appeared, very much winded, to ask if we had his luggage. “That fool sergeant brought your kits to my room.”
“Is this your trunk?” inquired the General, indicating the open trunk with the underthings gleaming from the top.
The Colonel was very much embarrassed but he admitted that it was his, explaining hastily, “Some things I bought to send home.”
“Oh—” exclaimed the General. “Bought them from a living model, eh?... Or did you just try them on to see if they would fit?”
“I—er—that is—you see,” the Colonel tried to explain. “I bought them——”
“I don’t doubt it at all, Colonel,” declared the General, laughing, “and I’ll wager you paid a high price for them, too!”
“Rather expensive,” admitted the Colonel lamely.