“The sahib would like to hear a story?” The speaker is a jemadar of the 59th.  “So be it.  Know then, sahib, that I and twelve men of my company were cut off by the German-log, and I, even I only, am left.  It was in this wise.  My comrades advanced too far beyond the trenches, and we lost our way.  And the German-log make signs to us to surrender, but it is not our way and we still advance.  And they open fire with a machine-gun—­so!” The speaker makes sounds as a man who stutters.  “And we are all hit—­killed and wounded, and fall like ripe corn to the sickle.  And I am wounded in the leg and I fall.  And the German officer, he come up and hitted me in the buttock to see if I were dead.  But I lay exceeding still and hold my breath.  And they pull me by the leg” (can it be that the jemadar is pulling mine?), “a long way they pull me but still I am as one dead.  And so I escaped.”  He looks round for approval.

“That was well done, jemadar.”  His lustrous eyes flash with pleasure.  “And how is it with your food?”

“Good” ("Bahout accha"), comes a chorus of voices.  “The exalted Government has done great things.  We have ghee”—­a clarified butter made of buffalo or cow’s milk—­“and goor”—­unrefined sugar.  “And we have spices for our dhal—­ginger and garlic and chilli and turmeric.  Yea, and fruits also—­apricots, date-palms, and sultanas.  What more can man want?”

“It is well.”  But it is time for me to go.  Smith is still talking to the Mahratta, whose eyes never leave his face.  “Come on, old man,” I say, “it is time to go.”  Smith turns reluctantly away.  As I looked over my shoulder the Mahratta was weeping softly.

VI

THE TROOP TRAIN

We were standing in the lounge of the Hotel M——­ at the Base.  “I’ll introduce you to young C——­ of the Guards when he comes in,” the Major was saying to me.  “He is going up to the Front with me to-night by the troop train.  You don’t mind if I rag a bit, do you, old chap?  You see he’s only just gazetted from Sandhurst, a mere infant, in fact, and he’s a bit in the blues, I fancy, at having to say good-bye to his mother.  He’s her only child, and she’s a widow.  The father was an old friend of mine.  Hulloa, C——­, my boy.  Allow me to introduce you.”

A youth with the milk and roses complexion of a girl, blue eyes, and fair hair, well-built, but somewhat under the middle height—­such was C——­, and he was good to look upon.

Introductions being made, we filed into the salle a manger.

“Chambertin, Julie, s’il vous plait,” said the Major.  “There’s nothing like a good burgundy to warm the cockles of your heart.”  He had the radiant eye of an Irishman, and smiled on Julie as he gave the order.

“So you’re leaving your hospital to go up and join a Field Ambulance?” I said.

“That’s so, old man.  There was a chance of my being made A.D.M.S. at the Base some day if I’d stayed on, but I wanted to get up to the Front, and I’ve worked it at last.  Besides I’m not too fond of playing Bo-peep with my pals in the R.A.M.C.  Beastly job, always worrying the O.C.’s.  Talking about A.D.M.S.’s, did I ever tell you the story of how I pulled the leg of old Macassey in South Africa?”