have been in France, too, but I don't remember much about it, for I was
quite a tiny little thing then. Did you learn to talk French when you
were fighting there?"

"I can't say as I did, exactly," said the man, scrubbing Bruno
vigorously. "I learnt a word or two, here and there, such as 'Bong
Jour' and 'Narpoo' and 'Beaucoup de Vin.' But not so as to be able to
converse, so to speak. There was one chap in our company who was a
regular nailer at speaking the lingo, but it got him into trouble in
the end."

"How?" asked Geraldine interestedly.

"Well, miss, he was a rare one for the girls, you see. And being as he
could talk to 'em, he used to have 'em all round him like flies round a
pot of honey in every billet he were in. I dunno what he told 'em.
But whatever it was, he told 'em all the same thing, and they all
thought he was in love with 'em and meant ter marry 'em, and after a
bit things got too warm for him altogether. And he had to go to the
C.O. about it and own up, and get himself transferred to another
company. It ain't no joke to have half a dozen sweethearts all after
you at once. Not that I've ever had that experience myself. I'm just
a-judging by what happened to Bill Sims. I ain't never had but one
sweetheart in my life, and she gave me the chuck while I was fighting
in South Africa, and I've had no truck with women in that way ever
since."

"Oh, how mean of her!" said Geraldine sympathetically. "When you were
away fighting for your country, too! She must have been a horrid sort
of girl."

"Oh, well, I don't say as she were altogether to blame for it," said
Bennett generously. "You see, I hadn't written to her regular like.
For two years she never got no letter at all, and she reckoned I was
dead or else gone off with some other young woman. So she got herself
spliced up to Albert Brown, who lived next door. She was real sorry
about it when I come back, and so was he. But it were too late to be
altered then, so we all agreed to make the best of it. It ain't no
manner of use crying over spilt milk. That's been my motto all my
life, and will be to the end of it. After all, being a single man has
its advantages, as you'll find, missie, when you gets to my age.
There's only one thing I regrets I ain't married for, and that's when
it comes to mending of my clothes. Socks I can manage, but patches
beats me altogether. This coat I'm wearing now wants a patch terrible
badly at the elb