‘You mistake my case,’ he said bitterly.  ’I experienced no sudden conviction about the justice of the war.  I stand where I always stood.  I’m a non-combatant, and I wanted a change of civilian work . . .  No, it wasn’t any idiotic tribunal sent me here.  I came of my own free will, and I’m really rather enjoying myself.’

‘It’s a rough job for a man like you,’ I said.

’Not so rough as the fellows get in the trenches.  I watched a battalion marching back today and they looked like ghosts who had been years in muddy graves.  White faces and dazed eyes and leaden feet.  Mine’s a cushy job.  I like it best when the weather’s foul.  It cheats me into thinking I’m doing my duty.’

I nodded towards a recent shell-hole.  ‘Much of that sort of thing?’

’Now and then.  We had a good dusting this morning.  I can’t say I liked it at the time, but I like to look back on it.  A sort of moral anodyne.’

‘I wonder what on earth the rest of your lot make of you?’

’They don’t make anything.  I’m not remarkable for my bonhomie.  They think I’m a prig—­which I am.  It doesn’t amuse me to talk about beer and women or listen to a gramophone or grouse about my last meal.  But I’m quite content, thank you.  Sometimes I get a seat in a corner of a Y.M.C.A. hut, and I’ve a book or two.  My chief affliction is the padre.  He was up at Keble in my time, and, as one of my colleagues puts it, wants to be “too bloody helpful”. . . .  What are you doing, Hannay?  I see you’re some kind of general.  They’re pretty thick on the ground here.’

’I’m a sort of general.  Soldiering in the Salient isn’t the softest of jobs, but I don’t believe it’s as tough as yours is for you.  D’you know, Wake, I wish I had you in my brigade.  Trained or untrained, you’re a dashed stout-hearted fellow.’

He laughed with a trifle less acidity than usual.  ’Almost thou persuadest me to be combatant.  No, thank you.  I haven’t the courage, and besides there’s my jolly old principles.  All the same I’d like to be near you.  You’re a good chap, and I’ve had the honour to assist in your education . . .  I must be getting back, or the sergeant will think I’ve bolted.’

We shook hands, and the last I saw of him was a figure saluting stiffly in the wet twilight.

* * * * *

The third incident was trivial enough, though momentous in its results.  Just before I got the division I had a bout of malaria.  We were in support in the Salient, in very uncomfortable trenches behind Wieltje, and I spent three days on my back in a dug-out.  Outside was a blizzard of rain, and the water now and then came down the stairs through the gas curtain and stood in pools at my bed foot.  It wasn’t the merriest place to convalesce in, but I was as hard as nails at the time and by the third day I was beginning to sit up and be bored.