A soldier cursed close by, and he cursed too, echoing the man's words without knowing why.

Another man slapped him on the back, mistaking him for a crony, and begged his pardon.

"It really makes no difference," said Tristram politely, and at once fell to wondering if this remark were absurd or no.

Beyond the grey veils of rain he spied, now and then, a cluster of red roofs and a steeple close beside the shore.
"What place is that yonder ?" he asked the man who stood at his elbow.
"Vlaardingen," said the fellow gruffly.

It was Sergeant Klomp, and Tristram turned it over in his mind whether to offer an apology or no.