Chapter 10 No.10

Reggy might have been a success as Mess Secretary, if it hadn't been for the Camembert cheese. No one could have remained popular long under such a handicap. He had discovered it in some outlandish shop in Paris-plage. The shopkeeper had been ostracised and the health authorities called in.

Some one has said that cheese improves with age. I do not propose to indulge in futile argument with connoisseurs, but Reggy's cheese had passed maturity and died an unnatural death. When he produced its green moss-covered remains upon the table, the officers were forthwith divided into two factions-those who liked cheese and those who did not; and the latter class stated their objections with an emphasis and strength which rivalled the Camembert.

Corporal Granger had charge of the Mess. He was a quiet, gentlemanly little chap who said little, thought much, and smoked when he had a chance. He opened the box before dinner, took a whiff which distorted his face, and silently passed the box to his assistants.

Wilson and René-a French-Canadian lad-wrinkled their noses in unison over it; then Wilson drawled:

"Smells-like a-disease-we uster have-in the ward upstairs."

But René's atavistic sense approved the cheese. "Dat's bon fromage," he declaimed emphatically. "Cheese ain't good until it smells like dat."

"Then folks to home eats a lot what's bad fer them-don't they?" Wilson retorted, with mild satire; "an' them so healthy too!"

René disdained controversy, and with unruffled dignity continued laying the table. During the first few months of our labours he had been orderly to no less a person than the senior major-hence his feeling of superiority. But he and the Second-in-Command hadn't always agreed; the senior major had a penchant for collecting excess baggage, and it behooved his unfortunate batman to pack, unpack and handle his ever-increasing number of boxes and bags. By the time we reached Boulogne these had become a great burden. René looked ruefully down upon it before he started to lift it, piece by piece, into the lorrie.

"Ba gosh!" he exclaimed, in perspiring remonstrance, "I hope de war don' last too long-er it'll take one whole train to move de major's bag-gage!"

René was impressionable and had all the romantic instinct of the true Frenchman. As I watched him decorating the table with flowers-we were to have company that night, and it was to be an event of unusual importance to us-my recollection carried me back to a bleak October night on Salisbury Plain. It was scarcely nine p.m., but I had turned in and lay wrapped in my sleeping bag, reading by the light of a candle propped on a cocoa tin. René had just returned from "three days' leave," having travelled over fifty miles to see a little girl whose face had haunted him for weeks. He was flushed with excitement and had to unburden his heart to some one. He stepped into my tent for a moment, the rain running off his cap and coat in little rivulets onto the floor.

"I'm afraid you're in love, René," I teased, after he had given me a glowing account of his trip.

"I t'ink dat's right," he exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. "Why, dat's de purtiest gal what I ever see. Dose arms of hers! Gee, dere ain't lilies so white like dat, an' de roses of her cheeks!-every time I meet her, I see her like more kinds of flowers!"

"But you'll see another bud next week, René," I interjected, "and forget all about this dainty little flower."

"Me forget? Non!" he declared, with conviction-and then a wistful look crept into his big brown eyes. He sat upon the edge of Reggy's cot opposite and reminiscently smoothed the hair off his brow before he continued:

"Sometime wen you're up de Gat'-ineau at home, an' de lumbermen free de logs in de riviere, you see dem float so peaceful down de stream. De water is run so slow an' quiet you don' see no movement dere; but bimeby de riviere go lil' faster, de ripples wash de banks, de logs move swifter an' more swift until dey come above de falls--dey fall, crash, boom! One gets stuck, annuder an' annuder; dey jam-dey pile up higher an' more high-more hun'reds of logs come down, an' jam an' jam. De water can't pass-it overflow de bank an' spread out in a great lake over de fields."

RENé HAD RISEN IN THE EXCITEMENT OF HIS DESCRIPTION

René had risen in the excitement of his description. The candle light shone faintly upon his broad shoulders and handsome, inspired face. His right arm was extended in harmony with the vehemence of his description. He continued more softly:

"Dat riviere is me; de falls is my lil' gal at de turnin'-point of my life, an' de great lake is my love which has burst over de fields of my fancy an' freshes all de dry places. I can't tell you how I love dat gal-sometimes I tink-maybe-I marry her some day."

At this juncture the senior major had thrust his head inside the tent.

"René," he called sternly, "get back to your work! Wash my rubber boots and keep an eye on the tent 'til I return."

And poor René, thus rudely brought to earth, had crept silently away.

At seven-thirty p.m., the shrill call of the bugle sounded "Officers' Mess":

"The officers' wives get pudding and pies,

The soldiers' wives get skilly-"

It is the one call which every officer, senior or junior, knows by heart, and answers promptly.

A mess dinner is a parade, and is conducted with all the pomp and dignity peculiar to a Chinese wedding. Woe betide the untrained "sub" who dares seat himself before the Commanding Officer has taken his place at the centre of the table! For the first time since our arrival in France, we were to be honoured with the presence of several ladies, and the whole mess was in a state of excitement compatible with the seriousness of such an occasion. It was so long since any of us had dined under the charming, but restraining, influence of the fair sex that, as Reggy afterward remarked, he was in a condition bordering on nervous prostration lest he forget to eat the ice cream with his fork, or, worse still, "butter" his bread with paté de fois gras.

Reggy had other worries on his mind as well. He had been taken aside early, and solemnly warned that if he, his heirs, executors or assigns, dared to bring forth upon the table so much as a smell of his ill-favoured cheese, he would be led out upon the sand dunes at early dawn and shot. This precaution having been duly taken, he was permitted to retire to the pantry with Fraser and Corporal Granger, and amuse himself making thirty Bronx cocktails for our express delectation. Promptly, as the last note of the bugle died away, the colonel and matron ushered our fair guests into the Mess Room.

Had our long separation from the beautiful women of Canada whetted our sense of appreciation? Or was it some dim recollection of an almost-forgotten social world which stimulated our imagination? Certainly no more exquisite representatives of the, to us, long-lost tribe of lovely women ever graced a Mess Room in France!

After the customary introductions had taken place, the twenty-five officers who now comprised our Mess distributed themselves in various awkward positions about the chairs of the five ladies-all the rest of our chairs were at the table-each trying vainly to give himself that appearance of graceful ease which indicates that the entertainment, of grandes dames is our chief sport in Canada.

What a dreadful encumbrance one's hands are on such an occasion! A military uniform does not take kindly to having its wearer's hands thrust deeply into his breeches pockets, and, as every one knows, this is the only way to feel at ease when addressing a lady in her evening gown-if you fold your hands unostentatiously behind your back, it hampers your powers of repartee.

Lady Danby, who conducted a Red Cross Hospital in a near-by town, appreciated our embarrassment, and did her best to make us feel at home.

"What a delightful Mess Room!" she exclaimed, as her tall, lithesome figure sank into an arm chair. "It must be so restful and refreshing after those dreadful operations!"

"Captain Reggy finds it very restful indeed," Burnham volunteered mischievously; "he spends a great deal of his time here-mixing drinks."

"Ah!-and he does them so very well too," exclaimed Madame Cuillard, with a flash of her beautiful dark eyes toward the hero of the moment, and lifting her glass to him in gracious compliment. "He is a man after my own heart."

"Madam, you flatter me," Reggy murmured, with a low bow, "and yet I fear I am not the first who has been 'after' such a kindly heart?"

"Nor you shall not be the last, I hope," the little widow returned, with a rippling laugh. "Still, 'Weak heart never won'-ah, non-I am forgetting my English-let it pass. A heart is so easy to be lost in France-you must be careful."

Fraser's Gibsonian figure towered above the others as he and Father Bonsecour and the senior major stood chatting with two Canadian guests. The girls made a pretty contrast, petite, dainty and vivacious; the one with blue-black hair and large soft brown eyes, the other fair as an angel, with hair of finely spun gold and eyes as blue as the sea over the dunes.

"May I take your glasses?" Fraser queried.

"Thank you, by all means," said the little brunette smilingly. "There's nothing I regret more than an empty glass or a flower that is dead."

"The former leaves little to hope, and the latter hopes little to leaf," asserted the senior major sententiously, animated by the beauty of our guests.

"What a dreadful pun, Major Baldwin!" cried the pretty blonde. "You deserve five days C.B.!"

"Thank Heaven," laughed the major, "we don't always get our deserts! We incorrigibles may still, for a moment

"'Take the cash and let the credit go,

Nor heed the rumble of the distant drum'!"

But the Colonel interrupted these delightful inanities by offering his arm to Lady Danby and showing her to the seat of honour on his right. The other ladies were distributed as impartially as was possible amongst the remaining twenty-four of us. We stood for a moment with bowed heads while our chaplain repeated that concise but effective military grace:

"For what we are about to receive, thank God!" and then we took our seats.

The dinner was progressing splendidly. Wilson hadn't spilled the soup; René hadn't tripped over the rug; course after course had proceeded under Granger's worried eye with daintiness and despatch. The sole meuniere was done to a turn, the roast pheasant and asparagus had been voted superb, and the ice-cold salad a refreshing interlude. Even the plum pudding, with its flaming sauce, had been transported without accident to the guests, when Reggy beckoned with a motion of the head to Granger, and whispered something in his ear.

Granger was the best lad in the world when he wasn't disturbed, but if he became excited anything might happen. The order was transmitted to René, and in a moment the murder was out. Whether through misunderstanding, or René's secret pride in its possession, Reggy's cheese had been excavated, and before it was possible to interfere, its carcase was upon the table!

The scent of hyacinth and lilies-of-the-valley faded on the instant; the delicate charm of poudre de riz was obliterated and all the delicious odours of the meal were at once submerged in that wonderful, pungent, all-embracing emanation from the cheese.

The colonel turned first red, then pale. He cast an appealing glance at Reggy-it was too late. The rest of us glared surreptitiously and silently at the culprit. An inspiration seized him. Unobserved, he signalled the mess president, who rose to his feet on the instant.

"Mr. Vice-The King!" he commanded.

"Ladies and gentlemen-The King!" came the formal but inspiring reply.

The cheese was forgotten. We were upon our feet, and lifting our glasses we drank to our sovereign. Cigars and cigarettes were passed around, and we waited patiently until the colonel lighted his cigar-for no one smokes at mess until the O.C. has set the example, or given his permission. The offending element had been quickly but quietly removed from the table, and once more peace and happiness prevailed.

But Reggy's fate as Mess Secretary was sealed!