He remained silent, absolutely cast down. Never have I seen a man so overcome as poor Charlie was that minute. At last he said:
"Well, that's done it. I must have been too excited. Farewell, my commission! We'll drink that bottle of champagne to-morrow."
And we shall. At last!
Once more I open these sheets, which I have had to neglect for four full mouths. And you will be surprised, my dear friends, who have escorted me to Austria and France, to hear that I am no longer writing this in the trenches, but in Belsize Park.
I suppose I must tell you all. Following Major Young's advice, I will begin by the beginning. In fact, I have already begun by informing you in one single word that Charlie—he will always remain Charlie for me—has at last met with success. Bad luck evidently ceased to exist from the moment when we emptied that bottle of champagne. On being questioned about his real name he made a clear breast of the whole story of his identity; and thus, what had not brought Sergeant Charles Young a commission, has finally brought Captain Friedrich Wilhelm Young a promotion.
That occurred on the last day of June. On the first of July, 1916, the great attack began. I am not going to describe that big affair. It has provided so much copy to professional writers that a poor amateur like me has no more chance. But how we rushed out of the trenches! Poor Cotton—on that very morning, an hour before the action began, he had received news from the Royal Society of Chemists that they were to publish his treatise at their expense, and he had said to me with an elated expression:
"Now I can die calmly: I know that I will not die altogether."
Poor Cotton was perhaps the first to be killed.