tainable paradise.

George hadn't been particularly pleased to see Wandel. What Wandel knew
made more difference in this quiet place, and George had a vague, shamed
recollection of having accused himself of being rotten inside, of not
having even started to climb.

"Must have had a touch of shell shock without knowing it," he mused as
he stared through the dusk at the precise, clean little man.

Indifferently he listened to Lambert's good-natured raillery at the
general staff, then he focussed his attention, for Lambert's voice had
suddenly turned serious, his hand had indicated the lounging figures of
the enlisted men.

"With all your ridiculous fuss and feathers at nice headquarters
chateaux, I don't suppose you ever get to know those fellows, Driggs."

"I don't see why not," Wandel drawled.

"Do you love them, everyone?"

"Can't say that I do, but then my heart is only a small organ."

"I do," Lambert said, warmly. "And you'll find George does. You can't
help it when you see them pulling through this thing. They're real men,
aren't they, George?"

George yawned.

"Are they any more so," he asked, dryly, "than they were when they lived
in the same little town with you? I mean, if all you say about them is
true why did you have to wait for war to introduce you to unveil their
admirable qualities?"

Lambert straightened.

"It's wrong," he said, defiantly, "that I should have waited. It's wrong
that I couldn't help myself."

"And you once tried to take a horse whip to me," George whispered in his
ear.

It was Lambert's absurd earnestness that worried him. Did Lambert, too,
have a touch of shell shock? Wandel was trying to smooth out his
doubts.

"I think what you mean to say is that war, aside from military rank, is
a great leveller. We can leave that out altogether. You know the
professional officer's creed: 'Good Colonel, deliver us.' 'We beseech ye
to hear us, good General,' and so on up to the top man, who begs the
Secretary of War, who prays to the President, who, one ventures to hope,
gets a word to God. You mean, Lambert, that out here it never occurs to
you to ask these men who their fathers were, or what preps they went to,
or what clubs they're members of. It's the war spirit--aside from
military rank--this sham equality. Titled ladies dine with embarrassed
Tommies. Your own sister dances with doughboys who'd be a lot happier if
she'd leave them alone. It's in the air, beautiful, gorgeous, h