XXX

HOME AGAIN

Sykes had finished packing my kit and had succeeded with some difficulty in re-establishing the truth of the axiom that a whole is greater than its parts.  When I contemplated my valise and its original constituents, it seemed to me that the parts would prove greater than the whole, and I had in despair abandoned the problem to Sykes.  He succeeded, as he always did.  One of the first things that an officer’s servant learns is that, as regards the regulation Field Service allowance of luggage, nothing succeeds like excess.

Sykes had not only stowed away my original impedimenta but had also managed to find room for various articles of vertu which had enriched my private collection, to wit: 

     (1) One Bavarian bayonet of Solingen steel.

     (2) Two German time-fuses with fetishistic-looking brass heads.

     (3) A clip of German cartridges with the bullets villainously
     reversed.

     (4) A copper loving-cup—­i.e., an empty shell-case presented to
     me with a florid speech by Major S——­ on behalf of the ——­th
     Battery of the R.F.A.

     (5) An autograph copy of The Green Curve bestowed on me by my
     friend “Ole Luk-Oie” (to whom long life and princely royalties).

(6) The sodden Field Note-book of a dead Hun given me by Major C——­ of the Intelligence, with a graceful note expressing the hope that, as a man of letters, I would accept this gift of belles-lettres.

(7) A duplicate of a certain priceless “chit” about the uses of Ammonal[30] (original very scarce, and believed to be in the muniment-room of the C.-in-C., who is said to contemplate putting it up to auction at Sotheby’s for the benefit of the Red Cross Fund).

(8) An autograph copy of a learned Essay on English political philosophers presented to me by the author, one of the liaison officers, who in the prehistoric times of peace was a University professor at Avignon.

     (9) A cigarette-case (Army pattern), of the finest Britannia metal,
     bestowed on me with much ceremony by a Field Ambulance at Bethune,
     and prized beyond rubies and fine gold.

     (10) A pair of socks knitted by Jeanne.[31]

To these Madame[32] had added her visiting-card—­it was nearly as big as the illuminated address presented to me by the electors of a Scottish constituency which I once wooed and never won—­wherewith she reminded me that my billet at No. 131 rue Robert le Frisson would always be waiting for me, the night-light burning as for a prodigal son, and steam up in the hot-water bottle.

I had said my farewells the night before to the senior officers on the Staff, in particular that distinguished soldier and gallant gentleman the A.G., to whose staff I had been attached (in more senses than one), and who had treated me with a kindness and hospitality I can never forget.  The senior officers had done me the honour of expressing a hope that I should soon return; their juniors had expressed the same sentiments less formally and more vociferously by an uproarious song at their mess overnight.