All this I explained to the doctor, but I did not tell him that, when I discovered my abnormal temperature, I had felt a quick spring of joy bubbling up, for here was an excuse for getting out of this Gallipoli, of which I was so sick and tired; and then I had remembered how, in loyalty to Doe, I had replaced my old ideals, and by their light I must stay.  I must only leave the Peninsula when I could leave it with honour of holding Helles for the Empire.

In the end the doctor and I compromised.  He said he would not send me to hospital, but that I must go down to the dump, and take things easy for a few days.  From there I could be summoned, since I took myself so devilish seriously, to die with my men when the massacre began.  I told him that the dump was too far back, but that, if he liked, I would go and live with Padre Monty in the Eski Line.

So a few days before Christmas I arrived with my batman and my kit at Monty’s tiny sand-bag dug-out.  He gave me a joyous welcome, stating that he would order the maids to light the fire in the best bedroom and air the sheets.  Meanwhile, would I step into his study?

Sec.2

“I’m glad,” said I to Monty at breakfast the next morning, “that I shall spend Christmas alone with you here.  I couldn’t have stood just now a riotous celebration with the regiment.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, and we both kept a silence in honour of the dead.

“Though I doubt if it’ll be a riotous Christmas for anyone,” I resumed.  “Probably the last most of us will ever know.”

“Stuff!” murmured Monty.

“’Tisn’t stuff.  Have you seen the Special Order of the Day that has been printed and stuck up everywhere, congratulating us on our attack of December 19, which, it says, ’contributed largely to the successful evacuation of Suvla,’ and telling us that to our Army Corps ’has been entrusted the honour of holding Helles for the Empire’?”

“Heavens!” he muttered.  “We can’t do it.”

“Of course we can’t; and we can’t quit.”

“Not without being wiped out,” he agreed.

“Exactly.  I wonder what it’ll feel like, having a Turco bayonet in one’s stomach.”

“Rupert,” said Monty suddenly, “we’ve had a bad jar, and we’re getting morbid.  Cheer up.  Muddly old Britain will get us out of this mess.  And now we’re jolly well going to make all we can out of this Christmas.  It’ll certainly be the most piquant of our lives. Adams!”

“Sir?” Monty’s batman appeared at the dug-out door in answer to the call.

“Get your entrenching tool.  We’re going to dig up a little fir for a Christmas tree.”