"Well, at Rouen they said this was better," said Peter.
Arnold laughed. "That's the way of the Army," he said. "It's all much the same, but you would have to go far to beat this camp."
Pennell agreed. "You're right there, padre," he said. "This is as neat a hole as I've struck. If you know the road," he went on to Peter, "you can slip into town in twenty-five minutes or so, and we're much better placed than most camps. There's no mud and cinders here, is there, Donovan? His camp's built on cinders," he added.
"There are not," said that worthy, rising. "And you're very convenient to the hospital here, padre. You better get Arnold to show you round; he's a dog with the nurses."
"What about the acting matron, No. 1 Base?" demanded Arnold. "He has tea there every Sunday," he explained to Peter, "and he a married man, too."
"It's time I went," said Donovan, laughing; "all the same, there's a concert on Tuesday in next week, a good one, I believe, and I've promised to go and take some people. Who'll come? Pennell, will you?"
"Not this child, thanks. Too many nurses, too much tea, and too much talk for me. Now, if you would pick me out a pretty one and fix up a little dinner in town, I'm your man, old bean."
"Well, that might be managed. It's time we had a flutter of some sort. I'll see. What about you, Graham? You game to try the hospital? You'll have to get to know the ropes of them all, you know."
"Yes, I'll come," said Peter—"if I can, that is." He looked inquiringly at Arnold.
"Oh, your time is more or less your own," he replied—"at least, it is our side of the house. Are you C.G. or P.C.?"