‘And your defence?’ he asked Tosher.
‘I’m just real sorry, colonel, to waste your time. But since this foolish boy blew into our shack, there’s been nothing but gaw-damns and muttered revolution. Why, sir, we were the happiest bunch of kids in the British Army when Old Bobby Blessem was boss of the show.’
‘You mean Lieutenant Blessem, I presume,’ said the colonel, correcting him.
‘I guess you’re right, colonel; but you know in the Western world we talk free and mean no offence.’
‘I quite understand,’ answered the C.O. tactfully. ‘Go on.’ There was a twinkle in the corner of the C.O.’s eyes.
‘I’m a Canadian, sir. I’m here to give the Old Land a lift against these blasted Huns. But I ain’t here to be knocked around by flannel-headed hobos.’
‘Just a minute, Johnson,’ said the colonel. ‘I am asking for your defence, and as a future officer you must realise that expressions of opinion have no bearing on the case. You are charged with dirty equipment and insolence. Please keep to the first.’
‘Sure, sir! My belt was clean as it was for the Prince o’ Wales’s inspection in France. What’s good enough for the son of a king is good enough for any two-pipped child in this institooshun. As for insolence, I reckon we Canadians ain’t out to grovel at the feet of snobs, though we don’t mind givin’ a “sir” now and again to a white man like yourself.’
‘But don’t you see that a young officer, unacquainted with the Canadian temperament, might misinterpret your attitude?’
‘Maybe, colonel; but it’s up to you to educate this child. I’m no chicken in the fighting business. Out West I make ten thousand dollars a year. Seems to me that your old machinery’s all wrong. And I guess you can’t do me in as long as these things are hanging around my figure,’ concluded Tosher, throwing the Military Medal and the D.C.M. on the table.