We're all living wonders, Major," he went on, turning to Thomson, "but if I don't get a Sole Colbert and a grill at the Savoy, and a front seat at the Alhambra, before many weeks have passed, I shall get stale--that's what'll happen to me." "Hope you'll have your hair cut before you go back," a man from the other end of the table remarked.

"Your own mother wouldn't know you like that--much less your sweetheart." The young man fingered his locks reflectively.
"Chap who was going to cut it for me got shot yesterday," he grumbled.
"Anything doing as you came over the ridge, Major ?" Thomson shook his head.
"One aeroplane and a few shells." "That would be Johnny Oates going out in his Bleriot," some one remarked.

"He'll be back here before long with a report." The officer who had met Thomson in the garden, re-entered the room.
"General says he'll see you at once," he announced.
Thomson followed his guide into a small back room.

An officer was seated before a desk, writing, another was shouting down a telephone, and a third was making some measurements upon a large Ordnance map nailed upon one of the walls.

The General was standing with his back to the fire and a pipe in his mouth.