which was standing in the station at which Thompson got out to
buy our breakfast They were exactly like the apples he brought back.

We woke up the boy then. It did not matter whether he shaved or not; but
at his age it is a serious thing to miss a chance of food.

About midday we arrived at a large town. Thompson learned from the
R.T.O. who inhabited the railway station there that we could not get a
train to take us any further till ten o'clock that night. He said again
that was war, what the French call _guerre_, but he seemed quite pleased
at the prospect of the wait He spoke of looking for a proper meal and
a Turkish bath. The bath we did not succeed in getting; but we had an
excellent luncheon: omelette, fried fish, some kind of stewed meat and a
bottle of red wine. The boy stuck to us and told us a lot more about his
girl. His great hope, he said, was that he would meet her somewhere in
France. I could see that what he really looked forward to was a wound of
a moderately painful kind which would necessitate a long residence, as
a patient, in her hospital. He was, as Thompson said, a nice boy; but
he talked too much about the girl. He was also a well-educated boy and
anxious to make the best of any opportunities which came his way. He
told us that there was an interesting cathedral in the town and proposed
that we should all go and see it after lunch. Thompson is not an
irreligious man. Nor am I. We both go to church regularly, though not to
excess, but we do not either of us care for spending week day afternoons
in a cathedral. Thompson still hankered after a Turkish bath. I had a
plan for getting a bedroom somewhere and going to sleep. We sent the boy
off to the cathedral by himself.

The Turkish bath, as I said, was unobtainable We walked through most of
the streets of that town looking for it. Then Thompson proposed that we
should have afternoon tea. That we got in a small room above a
pastry cook's shop. The girl who served us brought us tea and a large
assortment of sticky pastry. Thompson hates sticky pastry. There is only
one kind of cake made in France which he will eat. I knew what it was,
for I had often had tea with Thompson before. I should have recognized
one if I had seen it; but I could not remember the French name for it
Thompson insisted on describing its appearance to the girl. He gave his
description in English and the girl looked puzzled. I tried to translate
what he said into French and she