for the afternoon, and got back too late to
execute it. I'm very sorry, but can't I go to-day instead?"

"Good God, sir! do you think the whole British Army is arranged for your
benefit? Do you think nobody has anything else to do except to arrange
things to suit your convenience? We haven't got troopers with Pullman
cars every day for the advantage of you chaplains, though I suppose you
think we ought to have. Supposing you did have to wait, what about it?
What else have you to do? You'd have waited fast enough if it was an
order to go on leave; that's about all you parsons think about. _I_ don't
know what you can do. What had he better do, Mallony?"

The Adjutant leaned forward leisurely, surveying Peter coolly.

"Probably he'd better report to the R.T.O., sir," he said.

"Oh, very well. It won't be any good, though. Go up to the R.T.O. and ask
him what you can do. Here's the order." (He threw it across the table,
and Peter picked it up, noting miserably the blue legend, "Failed to
Report--R.T.O., Gare du Vert.") "But don't apply to this office again.
Haven't you got a blessed department to do your own damned dirty work?"

"The A.C.G.'s away, sir," said Peter.

"On leave, I suppose. Wish to God I were a padre, eh, Mallony? Always on
leave or in Paris, and doin' nothing in between.... Got those returns,
sergeant?... What in hell are you waiting for, padre?"

For the first time in his life Peter had an idea of what seeing red
really means. But he mastered it by an effort, saluted without a word,
and passed out.

In a confused whirl he set off for the R.T.O., and with a sinking heart
reached the station, crowded with French peasantry, who had apparently
come for the day to wait for the train. Big notices made it impossible to
miss the Railway Transport Officer. He passed down a passage and into an
office. He loathe and hated the whole wide world as he went in.

A young man, smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine, glanced
up at him. Peter observed in time that he had two stars only on his
shoulder-strap. Before he could speak, the other said cheerily: "Well,
padre, and what can I do for you?"

Peter deprecatingly told him. He had waited ten days, etc., and had at
last gone out, and the movement order had come with...

The other cut him short: "Oh, you're the chap who failed to report, are
you? Blighted rotters they are at these Group H.Q.'s. Chuck us over the
chit."

Peter brightened up and obeyed. The ot