rs, the congressmen, the M.P.'s
out of their chairs, laugh the presidents and the prime ministers, and
kaisers and dictators out of their plush-carpeted offices; the sun would
wear a broad grin and would whisper the joke to the moon, who would
giggle and ripple with it all night long.... The red hand of the waiter,
with thick nails and work-swollen knuckles, poured Chartreuse into the
small glasses before them.

"That," said Tom Randolph, when he had half finished his liqueur, "is
the girl for me."

"But, Tom, she's with a French officer."

"They're fighting like cats and dogs. You can see that, can't you?"

"Yes," agreed Howe vaguely.

"Pay the bill. I'll meet you at the corner of the boulevard." Tom
Randolph was out of the door. The girl, who had a little of the aspect
of a pierrot, with dark skin and bright lips and gold-yellow hat and
dress, and the sour-looking officer who was with her, were getting up to
go.

At the corner of the Boulevard Howe heard a woman's voice joining with
Randolph's rich laugh.

"What did I tell you? They split at the door and here we are, Howe....
Mademoiselle Montreil, let me introduce a friend. Look, before it's too
late, we must have a drink."

At the cafe table next them an Englishman was seated with his head sunk
on his chest.

"Oh, I say, you woke me up."

"Sorry."

"No harm. Jolly good thing."

They invited him over to their table. There was a moist look about his
eyes and a thickness to his voice that denoted alcohol.

"You mustn't mind me. I'm forgetting.... I've been doing it for a week.
This is the first leave I've had in eighteen months. You Canadians?"

"No. Ambulance service; Americans."

"New at the game then. You're lucky.... Before I left the front I saw a
man tuck a hand-grenade under the pillow of a poor devil of a German
prisoner. The prisoner said, 'Thank you.' The grenade blew him to hell!
God! Know anywhere you can get whisky in this bloody town?"

"We'll have to hurry; it's near closing-time."

"Right-o."

They started off, Randolph and the girl talking intimately, their heads
close together, Martin supporting the Englishman.

"I need a bit o' whisky to put me on my pins."

They tumbled into the seats round a table at an American bar.

The Englishman felt in his pocket.

"Oh, I say," he cried, "I've got a ticket to the theatre. It's a box....
We can all get in. Come along; let's hurry."

They walked a long while, blundering through the