In peace or war we cannot do without the ladies. They brighten this weary world, cheer us when we are in the depths, and tend us ‘when pain and anguish wring the brow.’ Our mothers mould our characters, our sisters help to keep us clean, while other men’s sisters provide the love and the inspiration so needful to man. And war is good for the business of Cupid. Danger gives admiration scope, and promotes the deeper affection.
Adela was my star. When drill and lectures were done, I basked in her smiles and played the old, old game. But, like all women, she loved to tease. It was, therefore, in keeping with her character to send me the following:
‘My dear Johnnie,—Don’t come on Saturday, as I shall be engaged. We are having two Australians to lunch, and shall be busy all day. You will understand. Love.
Adela.’
That was all she said. Two Australians! I felt annoyed, for these Cornstalks are the deadly rivals of the British Army. One of them had stolen my little French girl in La Bassée, while another had eloped with my V.A.D. from a Strand hotel. No, it wasn’t good enough, and I loudly swore.
‘What’s wrong, John?’ inquired Beefy.
‘Adela is booked for Saturday. The Anzacs are cutting me out. I’m fed up!’
‘I’m in your boat too, old chap. Her sister is apparently on the same stunt. She sent me word this morning, but I am not worrying. There’s lots of girls in this world. A little change will do us good. I’m fed up being respectable. Women are the limit. They’re getting too sure of themselves. They’re like trout—want a lot of playing before you land them. There’s nothing like cold indifference to bring them round.’
‘You’re an authority, Beefy.’
‘Well—yes. I’ve paid for my experience. I’ve loved everything from a parlour-maid to a general’s daughter. They’re all the same. As Kipling says: