“Why, if it isn’t Jim Bates!” he cried, advancing with outstretched hand.
The lance corporal drew himself up and saluted. His brown skin reddened as he shook hands, for it is not every day that a staff captain greets one of the rank and file in such democratic fashion.
“I’m main glad te see you, sir,” he said. “I read of your promotion in t’ Messenger, an’ we boys of t’ owd spot were real pleased. We were, an’ all.”
“You’re keeping fit, I see,” and Martin’s eye fell to a pickelhaube tied to the sling of Bates’s rifle.
“Pretty well, sir,” grinned Bates. “I nearly had a relapse yesterday when that mine went up. Did ye hear of it?”
“If you mean the one they touched off at L’Epinette Farm, I saw it,” said Martin. “I was at the crossroads at the moment.”
“Well, fancy that, sir! I couldn’t ha’ bin twenty yards from you.”
“Queer things happen in war. Do you remember Mrs. Saumarez’s German chauffeur, a man named Fritz Bauer?”
“Quite well, sir.”
“We caught him in ‘No Man’s Land’ three nights ago. He is a major now.”