Beefy grinned, then shoved me on the back of his motor-bike and whirled me over to Sweetville, where I was introduced to Adela, a peach of a girl, who had never been kissed. What luck!
It was 7 P.M. when I met Adela. I kissed her at 9; promised to marry her at 9.15; and at 9.30 (to the minute) Beefy and I were answering roll-call at the camp five miles away. Some hustle—eh, what?
We made our beds down and got in between the blankets. About ‘Lights out’ there was an infernal din outside the hut. Somebody was running round shouting, ‘John Brown! Where the ‘ell’s John Brown?’ Then some fifty huts started a chorus of—
‘John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave,
As we go marching along,’ &c., &c.
Beefy led the chorus in our own hut—much to my annoyance. At last the door opened, and the sergeant-major bawled, ‘Silence!’ They shut up. He next inquired if John Brown lived there.
‘Yes, sergeant-major. Here I am.’
‘Telegram for you.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ I muttered, thinking it was some wonderful effusion from Adela. On opening the brown envelope I read: ‘Sending you cough-drops, Keating’s powder, and body-belt.—Mother.’
As the lights went down I thought of the dear, good soul who was so careful of my welfare. Mothers may be silly, but they always love their boys.