t. And what'll you do for a four at bridge?"

Harold got up and fumbled in his pockets. As usual, there was nothing
there. "Why that damned batman of mine won't put my case in my pocket I
can't think," he said. "I'll have to fire the blighter, though he is T.T.
and used to be a P. and O. steward. Give me a fag, somebody. Thanks.
Well, padre, it's no use grousing. It's a beastly old war, and you're in
the blinkin' British Army, me lad. Drop in at eleven, then. Cheerio till
then."

At eleven Peter found Harold signing papers. He glanced up. "Oh,
sergeant," he said, "give Captain Graham a Movement Order Application
Form, will you? Sit down, padre; there's a pen there."

Peter wrestled with the form, which looked quite pretty when it was done.
Harold endorsed it. "Fire this through to the orderly-room, 10th Group,
sergeant," he said, and rose wearily. "Come along, padre," he said: "I've
got to go round the camp, and you can come too, if you've nothing better
to do."

"When'll I have to go, do you think?" asked Peter as they went out.

"Oh, I don't know. In a day or two. You'll have to hang about, for the
order may come any time, and I don't know how or when they'll send you."

Peter did hang about, for ten days, with his kit packed. His recently
acquired calm forsook him about the sixth day, and on the tenth he was
entirely mutinous. At lunch he voiced his grievances to the general mess.

"Look here, you men," he said, "I'm fed up to the back teeth. I've hung
round this blessed camp for more than a week waiting for that infernal
movement order, and I'm hanged if I'm going to stay in any more. It's a
topping afternoon. Who'll come down the river to La Bouille, or whatever
it is called?"

Harold volunteered. "That's a good line, padre. I want to go there
myself. Are the boats running now?"

"Saw 'em yesterday," volunteered somebody, and it was settled.

The two of them spent a decent afternoon on the river, and at Harold's
insistence went on back right up to town. They dined and went to a
cinema, and got back to camp about midnight. Graham struck a match and
looked at the board in the anteroom. "May as well see if there is
anything for me," he said. There was, of course. He tore the envelope
open. "Good Lord, skipper!" he said. "Here's my blessed movement order,
to report at the Gare du Vert at eight p.m. this very day. I'm only four
hours too late. What the dickens shall I do?"

Harold whistled. "Show it me," he