"You're a Christian," I told him, and, Gubson and Simmonds returning, the conference had a drink and adjourned.
Next day I found quite a squad of light-duty men, and sent 'em to dismantle and bring down Chaucer's hut. I admit they rather exceeded instructions, for they brought a lot of things that Chaucer had omitted to mention. However, they said he was there when they took them, so I supposed it was all right. Besides the hut they had two bell-tents, a big tarpaulin, some corrugated iron and expanded metal, some home-made chairs and tables, a water-tank and a field kitchen, with its wheels broken off—a noble lot of loot it was. They worked like beavers bringing it down and getting it in place, and when Chaucer drifted down again at the end of the week all my men were housed there as snug as you please. Finally Gubson presented the camp with a punt he had salved in Sailly village—and there we were, all the pleasures of the Riviera and none of the disreputable company.
We were so pleased with all they had done for us that we suggested they should stay the night and celebrate the occasion. Chaucer said he would be delighted, if we would send to his batman and tell him to bring down his razor and toothbrush. At midnight, when the batman arrived, Chaucer said it was time for bed. And could we give his man a shake-down, please? It was pretty dark, he said, and the fool might lose his way home.
That should have warned me. Chaucer wasn't the man to keep a batman who was a fool.
It must have been about 3 A.M. when I was waked by my man helping Chaucer dress.
"What's the matter?"
"Your fellow says my man's ill."
"What is it?"
"I dunno, Sir," my man said. "'E 's groanin' an' rollin' about an' keepin' all us others awake."
When I got to the men's hut I found Chaucer kneeling beside the sick man, who was holding his head and groaning. All the other men were sitting up and looking on. After a minute or two Chaucer got up and beckoned me outside.