good for 'em.
Everybody has more leisure to devote to them than in peace-time: their
amusements and recreations generally. Cinema shows and regattas, boxing
championships, and all the rest of it. There's fifty per cent. less
sickness and fewer punishments than we ever had in peacetime. Of course,
it's an exile for the married men--it's rough on them, but on the whole
there's jolly little grumbling."

"Yes," said the India-rubber Man. "It must be rough on the married men."
He felt suddenly as if an immense period of time had passed since he said
good-bye to Betty: and the next moment he felt that he had had enough of
the others. He wanted to get along to his own compartment where the
scent of violets had lingered.

He rose, stretching himself, and slipped his pipe into his pocket.
"Well," he said, "'Sufficient unto the day.' I'm turning in now."

There was a little pause after his departure, and Thorogood prodded the
bowl of his pipe reflectively.

"I wonder what's happened to the India-rubber Man?" he said. "It's some
time since I saw him last, but he's altered somehow. Not mouldy exactly,
either...."

"He's married," said the King's Messenger, staring at the shaded electric
light overhead, as he sprawled with one elbow on the pillow.

Mouldy Jakes gave a little grunt. "Thought as much. They get like
that." He spoke as if referring to the victims of an incomprehensible
and ravaging disease. "An' it's always the good ones that get nabbed."
He eyed the King's Messenger with an expression of melancholy
omniscience. "Not so suspicious, you know."

"Well," said Thorogood, "that is as may be: but I'm off to bed. Come
along, Mouldy."

The misogamist suffered himself to be led to the double-berthed
compartment he shared with Thorogood.

The King's Messenger locked the door after their departure and got into
pyjamas. For a long time he sat cross-legged on his bunk, nursing his
maimed limb and staring into vacancy as the express roared on through the
night. Finally, as if he had arrived at some conclusion, he shook his
head rather sadly, turned in, and switched out the light.

"Good lad, Podgie," observed Thorogood reflectively to his companion, as
he proceeded to undress.

Mouldy Jakes, energetically brushing his teeth over the tiny
washing-basin, grunted assent.

"Ever met my cousin Cecily?" pursued Thorogood. "No, I don't think you
did: she was at school when we stayed with Uncle Bill before th