Bill who was from London himself came out of some bushes by the side of the road, and gazed with wonder at the whirling figures. John knew that they belonged on the first line of the British outposts and he said politely:
"You're partly wrong. My friends are crazy right enough, but they're not Frenchmen. One is an Englishman like yourselves, and the other is an American, but regularly enlisted in the Franco-British service, as I am too."
Carstairs and Wharton stopped dancing. Carstairs took off his hat, and made a deep bow to the astonished pickets.
"I'm not bowing to you, though God knows you deserve it," he said. "I'm bowing instead to the British nation which is here incarnate in your khaki clad persons."
"Touched a bit 'ere, Bill," said one of the men, putting his finger to his forehead.
"A bit off says I too, 'Arry. We used to get 'em sometimes on our 'bus in the Strand. Speak 'em gentle, and they'll stop carrying on."
Carstairs exuded joy and he extended a welcoming hand.
"I take it that you were the driver and conductor of a 'bus in the Strand."
"Right you are sir," they replied together, and then one added:
"If you'll go down to the foot of the hill you'll see the good old 'bus itself with all the signs still on it. But I'll 'ave to ask you first, sir, who you are and what do you want?"