But Bill's prophecy proved correct. Long before the church was reached he had handed back his newly-won franc to the gunner and, in sheer irritable restlessness, insisted on the somnolent Alf leaving the train once more.
"What makes me sick," he said, "is to think of that 'ouse in Blighty all ready an' waitin' for us, an' beer an' drinks, an' 'ere we are as dry as a bone in a 'owlin' French desert."
"Tell you what, then," answered Alf, struck with an idea. "What's to prevent us slippin' away be'ind that bridge an' lettin' the train go on without us?"
"An' tell Eustace to.... Lumme, you must be wakin' up, Alf. Why, it'll mean us 'avin' about three days extra leave. Come on!"
They strolled casually along the line without exciting comment or interest on the part of their fellow-travelers scattered about the line, and when the train started these were much too busily occupied in scrambling back to their own places to notice that two of their number had unostentatiously slipped behind a culvert. The train puffed off busily; after it had gone a hundred yards or so a head appeared at one of the windows.
"Keep down," cried Bill. "It's the gunner—wonder what 'e'll do with our kits?"
The question was hardly out of his mouth before it was answered. The gunner—obviously a creature of impulse—was seen to push the two packs and rifles of his late companions out of the window of the train.
"Nice fool 'e'd 'ave looked if we'd been on the train arter all, in another carriage," said Bill. "Still, p'raps it's just as well to 'ave the things. Now for Blighty."
Alf removed the black covering which still shrouded his talisman.
"Better wait till the train's out o' sight," said Bill. "She seems to be gettin' really started at last.... I s'pose there'll be plenty o' beer in your new 'ouse?"