He drew a long breath.
“I wonder,” said Mr. Booth, “if you would care for a little drink? I keep some here for the boys. The city’s a dry place for soldiers. It’ll cheer you up.”
“I’m off liquor.” It was the first truth he had spoken for some time, and it sounded strange to his ears. “Rotten food and all that. Can’t drink. That’s straight.”
It had not been lost on him that Mr. Booth was endeavoring to conceal a vast cheerfulness; also that his refusal to drink was unexpected.
“Better have the picture, old top,” he observed. “Better get this eye on the off side, hadn’t you?”
For some five minutes Mr. Booth alternately disappeared under a black cloth and reappeared again. The sergeant felt that under a pretence of focusing he was being subjected to a close scrutiny, and bore himself carefully and well.
When at last it was over Mr. Booth put a question. “Want these in a hurry, I suppose?”
“Hurry? Why?”
“Most of the boys are just about to sail. They come in here and give me two days, three days. It is not enough.”
“Well, I can give you a month if you want it.”