Nurse Robinson hurried up to me on my way out. I thought her looking a trifle anxious.
"I'm feeling rather worried about one of my men," she began, "Private McPhee. I wonder if you saw him just now?"
"Oh, yes," I said, "we had quite a long chat."
"Oh, I'm so glad," she exclaimed, "I was really quite afraid he was wrong in his head. Do you know, he simply refused to dress up for the party ... and you know how they love dressing up! Such a good dress, too—Charlie Chaplin.... And I couldn't get a word out of him! Wasn't it strange?"
"Very," I said; "convalescents get all kinds of fancies, don't they? And was the party a success?"
"Splendid!" she said, brightening up. "Of course it's meant a lot of work. We've been toiling early and late at the costumes. But I'm sure it's worth it. It does please the poor fellows. Draws them out of themselves, don't you know."
From a Company notice-board at the Front:—
"Men must again be warned about matter they are putting in their letters. No places where we are or where we are going to are not to be divulged. Those having done so in their letters have been obliterated."
We had no notion that the Military Censorship was so drastic as that.