d great was their anger if one could not understand them. I
remember a very nice girl, who worked at the "Hotel de la Paix," came
to me one day and said solemnly, "My grandfadder he kill him."
"Gracious!" I said, "whom did he kill?" "He kill him," was the furious
reply. Apparently the poor grandfather, living under German rule at
Landrecies, had committed suicide.

I went back to Cassel and began to itch, mildly at first, and I was
not in the least put out. My brother came to France, and I went to
Boulogne to meet him. His boat was to arrive at 6.15 p.m., but did not
get in till just 10 p.m. They had been away down the Channel avoiding
something. Driving back to Cassel we had a fine sight of bombing and
searchlights. Hardly a night passed at this period that the Boche did
not have a "go" at St. Omer. One night, just then, they dropped three
torpedoes in Cassel as we were having dinner, but Suzanne, the
"Peach," at her desk, never fluttered an eyelid. I believe afterwards,
during the summer of 1918, when things were quite nasty at Cassel, she
never showed any signs of being nervous: just sat at her desk, made
out the bills, and occasionally made some lad happy by a look and a
smile.

On some evenings we used to give great entertainments in the kitchen
of the "Sauvage." I would stand the drinks, and Howlett (my chauffeur)
played the mouth-organ, and Green (my batman) step-danced. It was an (p. 058)
amusing sight watching the expressions of those old, fat Flemish
workwomen of the hotel.

The itching got worse, so one wet, black evening I went to see the
M.O., took off my clothes in a dirty, cold, dark room, and he examined
me carefully with the aid of an oil lamp. "You've got lice," he said.
"Really?" said I. "Have you got a servant?" "Yes," said I. "Well, go
back and give him Hell, and tell him to examine your clothes." I asked
him about my foot, which had a hole in it about the size of a
sixpence. "That's nothing," said he. "Keep it clean." So back I went,
down the black cobbled street, called up my faithful boys, Howlett and
Green, and told them I was lousy. I took my clothes off, and they
examined them with electric torches and candles and oil lamps. Not a
thing could they find. "Do you mind my looking at you, sir?" said
Howlett. So he had one look. Said he, "If it were lice got you into
that state, you'd be crawling with them."

I stood the pain and itching another couple of days, and sent for the
M.O. to come t