ck in
one hour. Then, by diligent enquiry, we discovered that our truck was
to go to France when a spare convoy of trucks went over.

The Colonel in charge at Bulford Camp said it would not be this
week--there might possibly be a convoy going over the next week or the
week after--or next month--he could not really say when. He had a
letter from the war office on his desk about the matter and would
notify us at the earliest possible moment.

We went away tearing our hair out, and we have no superfluous hair to
lose. We held a council of war. We leaped into our trusty car and sped
swiftly into Salisbury. The Canadian General, the object of our quest,
had just left for Shorncliff and would be back, perhaps, in two or
three days. We hunted for the A.A. & Q.M.G. of the 2nd Canadian
Division. After searching the register of three hotels we ran across
an officer who said that the A.A. & Q.M.G. had also gone to
Shorncliff. We had arrived too late to obtain assistance from this
quarter.

As it was now after 7 o'clock we had to have dinner. This was an
ordeal for we hated the Salisbury hotels; they had been so crowded
that winter with Canadian officers and their wives that the
proprietors had lost their heads. They didn't care whether they served
you or not. One of them even paid a "boots" to stand at the door and
insult possible guests, the idea being to turn as many away as
possible. The hotel keepers must have heaped up untold wealth that
winter, and the abundance of custom had ruined their sense of
hospitality.

So we discarded the idea of a hotel dinner. We referred to our
chauffeur, who was "some chauffeur, believe me." "What about that
little chop house ('The Silver Grill') which he had frequently lauded
with fulsome praise?" He did not now wax enthusiastic--a point we
noted, and of which we found the explanation--but he drove us there.

The Silver Grill was a curious old place, with winding stair-case,
ancient beamed ceilings in the smoking-room, and a general appearance
indicating that it had seen service at least two hundred years.
Climbing to the attic, we entered a little dining room, perhaps twenty
feet long, with room for about sixteen diners. The tables were
occupied chiefly by officers, and we took the settee next the wall and
ordered the chef d'oeuvre--a steak smothered in onions, and French
fried potatoes.

Norah, the one serving maid, a pretty little thing, was evidently a
great favorite with the habit