sing of a dish an intellectual crisis of the first order.

"Oh, I don't know, steward, damn you," he sighed. "I'll have a
tedious lemon sole. No--as you were--I'll, have a grilled chop."
And, quite spent with this effort, he fell to making balls out of
pellets of bread and playing clock golf with a spoon.

During the meal Major Hardy and Padre Monty talked "France," as
veterans from the Western Front will continue to do till their
generation has passed away.

"I was wounded at Neuve Chapelle--_what_," explained the Major.
"Sent to a convalescent home in Blighty. Discharged as fit for duty
the day we heard of the landing at Cape Helles. Moved Heaven and
earth, and ultimately the War Office, to be allowed to go to
Gallipoli."

(Major Hardy might have said more. He might have told us that he had
been recommended once for a D.S.O., and twice for a court-martial,
because he persisted in devoting his playtime to sharpshooting and
sniping in No Man's Land, and to leading unauthorised patrols on to
the enemy's wire. But it was not till later that we were to learn
why he had been known throughout his Army Corps as Major
Fool-hardy.)

Padre Monty had not been wounded, it seemed, but only buried alive.

"The doctor and I had been taking cover in a shell-hole," he
explained, between the sweet and the dessert, "when a high-explosive
hurled the whole of our shelter on top of us, leaving only our heads
free. We were two heads sticking out of the ground like two turnips.
After about five hours the C.O. sent a runner to find the padre and
the M.O., alive or dead. The fellow traced us to our shell-hole, and
when he saw our heads, he actually came to attention and saluted.
'The C.O. would like to see you in the Mess, sir,' said he to me.
'And I should dearly like to see him in the Mess,' said I. 'However,
stand at ease.' 'Stand at the devil,' said the doctor. 'Go and get
spades and dig us out.'"

"Hum," commented Major Hardy, "if you weren't a padre, I should
believe that story. But all padre are liars, _what_."

Monty bowed acknowledgments.

"And then," suggested the Major, "you felt the pull of the
Dardanelles."

"Exactly, who could resist it? I wasn't going to miss the most
romantic fight of all. The whole world's off to the Dardanelles. I
knew the East Cheshire's chaplain was coming home, time expired, so
I applied--"

"How ripping! That's our brigade," interrupted I, unconsciously
returning his previous flattery.

"