"The worst case," said Ernest at length, "was when I got my commission and came home for my kit."
I composed myself to listen, piously determined not to grumble however tedious I might find his recital.
"We'd been near a place called Ypres," he began.
"I seem to have heard the name," I murmured.
"I hadn't been sleeping really well for a week--we'd been in the trenches that time--and before that I had lain somewhat uneasily upon a concrete floor."
"Yes, concrete is hard, isn't it?" I said.
"We came out at three in the morning, and arrived at our billets about seven. I knew this commission was on the _tapis_--French word meaning carpet--so I hung round not daring to turn in. At eleven o'clock I had orders to push off home to get my kit. You'll guess I didn't want asking twice. I made my way to the railhead at once in case of any hitch, and had to wait some time for a train. It was a goods train when it came, but it did quite well and deposited me outside the port of embarkation about nine o'clock at night. I walked on into the port and found the ship that was crossing next morning. I went below in search of a cabin. There was a French sailor there to whom I explained my need."
"How?" I asked, for I do not share Ernest's opinion of his mastery of the French language, but he ignored this.
"It was dark down there," he went on, "too dark for him to see that I was in a private's uniform, so I put on a bit of side and he took me for an officer."
"Very likely. Anyway he found me a beautiful cabin with a lovely couch in it all covered with plush. You would have thought I should want nothing but to be left to sleep; but no, I saw that the officer in the next cabin had a candle, and there was no candle for me. Instantly my worst instincts were aroused. I felt I was being put upon. I demanded a candle. The sailor declared there wasn't one left."
"You're sure he understood what you were asking for?"
"Yes, I know that candle is boogy, thank you. I argued with him for ten minutes and then turned in, grumbling. Queer, wasn't it?"
I sat there for a while, thinking over Ernest's story, which had, it seemed to me, something of the tract about it.
"Aren't these midges absolutely--" I began, and then stopped, remembering Ernest's tract. It only shows, as I said to Ernest, that we may learn something even from the most unlikely people.