ad
been through the whole campaign without once seeing Mother
England for whom they were fighting. The affection in which Captain
P------was held extended through his regiment, for we had left his own
company behind. At every turn he was asked about his arm.

"You've made a mistake, sir. This isn't a hospital," as one man
expressed it. Oh, but the captain was bored with hearing about that
arm! If he is wounded again I am sure that he will try to keep the fact
a secret.

These veterans could "grouse," as the British call it. Grousing is one
of Tommy's privileges. When they got to grousing worst on the retreat
from Mons, their officers knew that what they really wanted was to
make another stand. They were tired of falling back; they meant to
take a rest and fight a while. Their language was yours, the language
in which our own laws and schoolbooks are written. They made the
old blood call. For months they had been taking bitter medicine; very
bitter for a British soldier. The way they took it will, perhaps, remain a
greater tribute than any part they play in future victories.

"How do they feel in the States?" I was asked. "Against us?"

"No. By no means."

"I don't see how they could be!" Tommy exclaimed.

Tommy may not be much on argument as it is developed by the
controversial spirit of college professors, but he had said about all
there was to say. How can we be? Hardly, after you come to know T.
Atkins and his officers and talk English with them around their camp-
fires.

"The Germans are always sending up flares," I remarked. "You send
up none. How about it?"

"It cheers them. They're downhearted!" said one of the group. "You
wouldn't deny them their fireworks, would you, sir?"

"That shows who is top dog," said another. "They're the ones that are
worried."

I had heard of trench exhaustion, trench despair, but there was no
sign of it in a regiment that had been through all the hell and mire that
the British army had known since the war began. To no one had
Neuve Chapelle meant so much as to these common soldiers. It was
their first real victory. They were standing on soil won from the
Germans.

"We're going to Berlin!" said a big fellow who was standing, palms
downward to the fire. "It's settled. We're going to Berlin."

A smaller man with his back against the sandbags disagreed. There
was a trench argument.

"No, we're going to the Rhine," he said. "The Russians are going to
Berlin." (This was i