w,
France, I can tell you. There's the sweepings of half the world over
there, and everything's turned upside down. Fellows are out for a spree,
of course, and you can't be hard on a chap down from the line if he goes
on the bust a bit. It's human nature, and you must allow for it; don't
you think so?"
"Human nature can be controlled," said Peter primly.
"Can it?" retorted the other. "Even the cloth doesn't find it too easy,
apparently."
"What do you mean?" demanded Peter, and then added: "Don't mind telling
me; I really want to know."
Donovan knocked out his pipe, and evaded. "You've got to be broad-minded,
padre," he said.
"Well, I am," said Peter. "But ..."
"Come and have a drink then," interrupted the other. "Jenko and the Major
are coming back."
"Damned poor whisky!" said the latter, catching the rail as the boat
heaved a bit, "begging your pardon, padre. Better try brandy. If the war
lasts much longer there'll be no whisky worth drinking this side. I'm off
it till we get to the club at Boulogne."
Peter and Donovan went off together. It was a new experience for Peter,
but he wouldn't have owned it. They groped their way down the saloon
stairs, and through a crowd to the little bar. "What's yours?" demanded
Donovan.
"Oh, I'll take the Major's advice," said Peter. "Brandy-and-soda for me."
"Soda finished, sir," said the bar steward.
"All right: two brandies-and-water, steward," said Donovan, and swung a
revolving seat near round for Graham. As he took it, Peter noticed the
man opposite. His badge was a Maltese Cross, but he wore a flannel collar
and tie. Their eyes met, but the other stared a bit stonily. For the
second time, Peter wished he hadn't a clerical collar. The next he was
taking the glass from the South African. "Cheerio," said Donovan.
"Here's to you," said Peter, and leaned back with an assumption of ease.
He had a strange sense of unreality. No fool and no Puritan, he had
naturally, however, been little in such an atmosphere since ordina