ve a table, and Captain R---- was deputed
to do so. In fifteen minutes he came back twisting his black moustache
and looking depressed.

"Nothing doing," he reported in disappointment.

"What!" we cried.

"Nothing doing" he repeated mechanically. "We may possibly get a table
after 8.30."

"Do you mean to say" cried Mac, jumping from his chair in a rage,
"that we can't get anything to eat?" Captain R---- nodded. "Let's
leave this d---- morgue; I hate it anyway" stormed Mac, and we filed
sadly out.

In the hall we had a try with the head clerk, and another with the
head waiter, but it was no use. "Guests must be served first" was the
only argument; pointing out that there were a dozen tables yet unset
made no difference. Our chauffeur had gone, so we left our address for
him, ordered a taxi, and drove to the Burlington Hotel two miles away.
Before dismissing the taxi we took the precaution of seeing that we
could get dinner, and finding that the hotel authorities agreed to
furnish us with a meal we clambered out; after divesting ourselves of
our overcoats we were ushered into a dining room crowded with
beautiful women and, mostly, ugly men. There were some hummers among
the women.

The relief at the change from the dismal, deliriously-decorated hotel
to this bright, cheery room, was so great that we suddenly grew
exceedingly gay and enjoyed ourselves hugely. A little concert
afterwards added to the enjoyment, which was only slightly marred by
a bill for forty-two shillings.

Our homeward journey was through little villages all asleep, and
silent as the adjacent churchyards; and as we two tumbled into our
cots at midnight we voted that we had spent "a fine day" in spite of
the mischievous tendency of things "to go wrong."

Another of these "days" came later. We had been waiting at Bulford
Cottage for three weeks for orders from the war office to leave for
France, and we were growing decidedly fidgety. The fine weather
feeling of Spring in the air may have had something to do with our
restlessness. The buds were swelling on the great trees near by, and
the leaves had actually broken from their bonds on some of the hedges.
The air was full of bird songs; the lark in particular seemed to be
mad with the joy of springtime. At Bulford Manor I had picked the
first wall-flowers in bloom in the open garden; Roman Hyacinths,
Daffodils, Snowdrops, English daisies, and another little unfamiliar
white flower were in blosso