‘Keep to the point, Buffalo Bill,’ said Beefy.
‘I’m sitting on it, and it’s real hard. Now I’m going to skin your eyes. I likes this institooshun. It’s durned slow, and there ain’t enough ginger in the Old Man. Yet I reckon I’ve got wise here. They’ve knocked all the Tommy’s grouse out of me, and given me hope of a better land—a commission, a servant, and a waiter to bring me cocktails and fat havanas. They’ve shown me how to eat an omelet, and warned me off drinking out of a finger-bowl; taught me how to sign myself “Your obedient servant” when I don’t feel like it; and to say “sir” to all the chicks that’ll want a job from me after the war. They took me in, a tow-headed gum-chewer, and they reckon they’re turning me out real prime, first-class, lead-’em-to-Hell stuff. As one of those old professors said, “He was a Canadian when he came; now he’s a gentleman.”
‘Well, boys, I’m real grateful for it all, though I haven’t much time for etiquette, and ain’t no use at the “How d’ye do?” business. Out West we introduce with revolvers, and get our photo taken when there’s a hundred dollars on our head.
‘We ain’t here for amusement; we’re here to fight. You can’t do that with kid gloves. It’s red fighting that will kill the Hun—not talking. And, as Nobby says, we need more brains. That’s a plain proposition, and I’m his man. However, we haven’t been skinned in this saloon bar. The Old Man is a white man. He has been real good to me and you. Our time’s been a happy time. I’ve learned to love the Old Country. We Canadians may be tough, we may even seem white-fanged gunmen, but, I tell you, we’re in with you to the end.
‘God help the Huns when I go back!’
‘Hear, hear, old Tosher! You’re the goods,’ shouted Billy, rising to wind up our informal discussion.
‘And now, boys, a last word. Tosher has shown you the real soul of Canada, the spirit which brings the Canadians over, and in which they die. To us all it is a great revelation. He has been a good pal, just as you all have been, and our time here has been one of joy. Never mind this eternal discussion about brains. Leave that to the powers that be. Look at ourselves. Are we better men? Are we better soldiers? Are we really fit to lead our own clean boys? That to me is the real issue. Somehow, I think we’ll do fairly well. We are all agreed about fighting the German. We are determined to do so. In this school they have improved us, and made us more fit for the task. We have had a dear old gentleman for a father; our instructors have all been kind; every one of the staff has done his duty. It is up to us to show our appreciation, and, when we leave here, to serve our God, to honour the King, and die if need be, like true British soldiers.’
We got up silently, and went to bed.
The thought of parting had gripped the soul!