Goliath seated at the table, was smiles all over, in fact, he was one massive good humoured smile, geniality personified.
"Anything fresh from the seat of war?" he asked, as he waited for the soup.
"According to the latest reports," Pryor answered, "we've gained an inch in the Dardanelles and captured three trenches in Flanders. We were forced to evacuate two of these afterwards."
"We miscalculated the enemy's strength, of course," said Mervin.
"That's it," Pryor cut in. "But the trenches we lost were of no strategic importance."
"They never are," said Kore. "I suppose that's why we lose thousands to take 'em, and the enemy lose as many to regain them."
"Soup, gentlemen," Stoner interrupted, bringing a steaming tureen to the table. "Help yourselves."
"Mulligatawny?" said Pryor sipping the stuff which he had emptied into his mess-tin, "I don't like this."
