“Well, how are you? You look pretty much slapped around but a damned sight better than I expected.”
“Yes. Much better.”
“Amazingly so, old fellow. You’ll be out having a fling at the Boche before you know it.”
And he did look better, though how much may have been the excitement of seeing us is a thing I do not know.
“Here. Stretch out in this chair. If there’s any hustling to do, we’ll do it. Coddle yourself there. Davy and I can find the tobacco. Nice diggings you have here.”
At this moment Toinon came in, her market basket on her arm, and stopped short at sight of us.
“What shall I call her? Davy has told me about her,” said Ben, rising.
“Toinon—Mademoiselle Toinon, if you like. Toinon, ma mie, c’est mon frère Ben. Tu connais David. Viens ici.”
She shook hands gaily, and passing to Alan, leaned over and kissed him, while Alan looked at us with a certain defiance.
“Don’t carry a chip on your shoulder, Skipper,” said Ben, knocking out the ashes from his pipe, while Toinon disappeared with her marketing.