"But then," says the journalist, reflectively, "if I sign that the censor will hold it up for three days!"
The Head of the Belgian Medical Department smiles.
He knows what that telegram would mean to the Belgian Army.
"Let me sign it," he says in a gentle voice, "let me sign it and send it. My telegrams are not censored, and your English Doctor will meet us at Calais to-morrow, and all will be well with your magnificent idea!"
Just then the author on the left appears a trifle uneasy.
He holds up an empty Burgundy bottle towards the light.
"A dead 'un!" he announces, distinctly.
But our host, in his abstraction, does not hear.
The author picks up the other bottle, holds it to the light, screws up one eye at it, and places it lengthwise on the table.
"That's a dead 'un too," he says.