"But there's a fellow just going to speak, and as you object to being preached to we had better go."
Tom rose almost reluctantly. He was not sure that he didn't want to hear what the man had to say.
"Besides," went on Penrose, "I haven't shown you over the place yet. I want to take you into the rooms which are provided for writing letters, and playing games; there are the French classes too, and I should like you to see what they are like."
That night at eleven o'clock, as Tom went back to the house where he had been billeted, he felt that he had indeed made a fool of himself. The Y.M.C.A. rooms had the feeling of home; none of the people there wanted his money, and he was the better, not the worse, for going.
"Of course," said Tom to himself as he went to bed, "religious lolly-pops are not fit for a grown-up man, but it wur a grand evening; I am sure I could pick up that French, too. Let's see, how did it go?
"Je suis I am. Vous êtes you are. Nous sommes we are. Ils sont they are.
"Why, it's easy enough," thought Tom, "I could pick it up, and then when I go over to France I shall be able to speak their lingo."
"Where have you been lately, Tom?" asked Alec McPhail when he met him some time later. "I have been to all the public-houses where we used to meet and have not set my eyes on you."
"Nay," replied Tom, "I have been to the Y.M.C.A."
"Nay, Tom, a man like you, with your power of reasoning an' a', are surely not turning releegious?"