“Almost,” he said critically, holding his head to one side.
“Not with an Army. You could with a Safety, though,” said Anthony. And, indeed, as Brother Burges had foretold, one might have shaved in it with comfort.
“Did you ever run across any of ’em afterwards, any time?” Anthony asked presently.
“Not so many of ’em left to run after, now. With the ’Eavies it’s mostly neck or nothin’. We copped it. In the neck. In due time.”
“Well, you come out of it all right.” Anthony spoke both stoutly and soothingly; but Humberstall would not be comforted.
“That’s right; but I almost wish I ’adn’t,” he sighed. “I was ’appier there than ever before or since. Jerry’s March push in ’Eighteen did us in; an’ yet, ’ow could we ’ave expected it? ’Ow could we ’ave expected it? We’d been sent back for rest an’ runnin’-repairs, back pretty near our base; an’ our old loco’ that used to shift us about o’ nights, she’d gone down the line for repairs. But for ’Ammick we wouldn’t even ’ave ’ad our camouflage-screens up. He told our Brigadier that, whatever ’e might be in the Gunnery line, as a leadin’ Divorce lawyer he never threw away a point in argument. So ’e ’ad us all screened in over in a cuttin’ on a little spur-line near a wood; an’ ’e saw to the screens ’imself. The leaves weren’t more than comin’ out then, an’ the sun used to make our glue-paint stink. Just like actin’ in a theatre, it was! But ’appy. But ’appy! I expect if we’d been caterpillars, like the new big six-inch hows, they’d ha’ remembered us. But we was the old La Bassee ’15 Mark o’ Heavies that ran on rails—not much more good than scrap-iron that late in the war. An’, believe me, gents—or Brethren, as I should say—we copped it cruel. Look ’ere! It was in the afternoon, an’ I was watchin’ Gander instructin’ a class in new sights at Lady Catherine. All of a sudden I ’eard our screens rip overhead, an’ a runner on a motor-bike come sailin’, sailin’ through the air—like that bloke that used to bicycle off Brighton Pier—and landed one awful wop almost atop o’ the class. ‘’Old ’ard,’ says Gander. ‘That’s no way to report. What’s the fuss?’ ‘Your screens ’ave broke my back, for one thing,’ says the bloke on the ground; ‘an’ for another, the ’ole front’s gone.’ ‘Nonsense,’ says Gander. ’E ’adn’t more than passed the remark when the man was vi’lently sick an’ conked out. ’E ’ad plenty papers on ’im from Brigadiers and C. O.’s reporting ’emselves cut off an’ askin’ for orders. ’E was right both ways—his back an’ our front. The ’ole Somme front washed out as clean as kiss-me-’and!” His huge hand smashed down open on his knee.
“We ’eard about it at the time in the ’Oly Land. Was it reelly as quick as all that?” said Anthony.
“Quicker! Look ’ere! The motor-bike dropped in on us about four pip-emma. After that, we tried to get orders o’ some kind or other, but nothin’ came through excep’ that all available transport was in use and not likely to be released. That didn’t ’elp us any. About nine o’clock comes along a young Brass ’At in brown gloves. We was quite a surprise to ’im. ’E said they were evacuating the area and we’d better shift. ‘Where to?’ says ’Ammick, rather short.
“‘Oh, somewhere Amiens way,’ he says. ‘Not that I’d guarantee Amiens for any length o’ time; but Amiens might do to begin with.’ I’m giving you the very words. Then ’e goes off swingin’ ’is brown gloves, and ’Ammick sends for Gander and orders ’im to march the men through Amiens to Dieppe; book thence to New’aven, take up positions be’ind Seaford, an’ carry on the war. Gander said ’e’d see ’im damned first. ’Ammick says ’e’d see ’im court-martialled after. Gander says what ’e meant to say was that the men ’ud see all an’ sundry damned before they went into Amiens with their gun-sights wrapped up in their putties. ’Ammick says ’e ’adn’t said a word about putties, an’ carryin’ off the gun-sights was purely optional. ‘Well, anyhow,’ says Gander, ’putties or drawers, they ain’t goin’ to shift a step unless you lead the procession.’
“‘Mutinous ’ounds,’ says ’Ammick. ‘But we live in a democratic age. D’you suppose they’d object to kindly diggin’ ’emselves in a bit?’ ‘Not at all,’ says Gander. ‘The B. S. M.’s kept ’em at it like terriers for the last three hours.’ ‘That bein’ so,’ says ’Ammick, ‘Macklin’ll now fetch us small glasses o’ port.’ Then Mosse comes in—he could smell port a mile off—an’ he submits we’d only add to the congestion in Amiens if we took our crowd there, whereas, if we lay doggo where we was, Jerry might miss us, though he didn’t seem to be missin’ much that evenin’.