d
new-comers. There was Fergusson, reputed to have half a century of
ranching and horse-dealing in the Argentine; 'Forty-nine,' said Fowke,
in a delighted whisper, assessing his age. (As a matter of fact,
Fergusson's years were forty-one.) There was 'Ezra' ('Likewise Beetle,'
interpolated Fowke), who had arrived the day I went sick. 'Ezra,' who
signed his name as Mason, and was brother of Kenneth Mason, engineer
and archaeologist, got his nickname from a supposed modelling of his
bald dome upon Ezra's Tomb, by Q'urna. Keely, classical scholar and
philosopher, was standing outside his tent, pondering, as I came up to
rejoin the battalion. He called me up, and asked me earnestly what girl
from Greek literature I should like to have known, even to have had as
companion on the Thames at Richmond. 'Nausicaa,' I said. 'Every time,'
agreed Keely, brightening up as if a heavy load had been lifted from
his mind, and begged me to have a drink in her honour. Bale and Charles
Copeman were away, by Al-Ajik; 'in the nearest E.P. tent to
Constantinople,' G.A. said. Of our wounded, only G.A. was back. Warren
came later; Westlake remained in India.

Some surprise was expressed that I had returned at all. This was
Thorpe's doing. To explain, I must go back a little. I knew Thorpe
years before the war. We met again in Sannaiyat trenches. His
messmates, who desired to know more of Thorpe's old life, asked me how
we met first. 'I was chaplain of a jail at Peterborough,' I replied.
The statement was received at once; the only head on which further
light was sought was as to the number of years that were deducted from
his sentence for service in Mesopotamia. (Convicts from India who came
out in the Labour Corps to Mesopotamia were remitted ten years.) Now,
during my Indian leave, an old friend found me out and took me to spend
the last days of my Darjiling visit with him. He was, among other
things, superintendent of the prison. I carelessly wrote to Thorpe on a
sheet of paper with the printed heading 'Jail-house, Darjiling.' Thorpe
spent July and August in taking this sheet round from mess to mess. He
blackened my reputation, and opened up a field of speculation as to the
reason of my incarceration. 'No doubt this man is a murderer, whom,
though he hath escaped from the sea'--from Mesopotamia, say--'yet
Justice hath not suffered to live.' He considered that he was level
with me for my Peterborough jail-jape, and was much cheered.

It took