"It'll be over by Christmas all right," said James again, but without conviction.
"Maybe," I said; "Christmas, 1918, you mean, I suppose?"
James called me a rude name, as soldiers will, and relapsed into moody silence.
I knew what the trouble was. He had booked a room at Spitzeheider for three weeks in January. They were to be the same party as last year, he had said at first; but on cross-examination it appeared that this referred solely to a lady who was described with exaggerated unconcern as being "rather a good sort."
And now here were James and I in one Of Kitchener's camps at ———, having taken an oath to defend the King at all costs against his enemies.
True, James had been given an old form to read from, and had sworn allegiance to King Edward VII. without the officer noticing it; but though at first he tried to clutch at this straw it was only a straw.
"I find now that King Edward VII. died some years ago," he had said, "so my oath is not binding, and, if the War is not over by Christmas I shall point that out and retire."
However it was found that "His Heir" was mentioned, so that went by the board.
"Cheer up, James," I said, "Spitzeheider will be there all right in 1920, even if 'the same party' are all married to other people."
James did not think my remark in the best possible taste, and said as much.
Then he looked up from the map he had been studying with a glad cry. "Do you know, I think it will be all right after all," he said; "I've been working it out, and I think it more than possible that we shall by January be guarding lines of communication somewhere not so very far from the Swiss frontier. I can get three weeks' leave, join the party at Spitzeheider, and at the end rejoin our gallant troops in the field."
"The Swiss won't much care for your marching into their country armed to the teeth," I said. "You know, James, you cut a very commanding figure in regimentals. I won't say that a somewhat conservative tailor has altogether realised that we are inferior physically but superior intellectually to prehistoric man—I mean the tunic is much too big and the hat much too small. But you look every inch a recruit, and with any luck by January you'll look like the best kind of War Lord. No, James, the Swiss won't pass you through the Customs."
"Oh, that will be all right!" he said; "I shall take a change of clothes and leave my uniform and rifle in the cloak-room at the frontier station, and get them out again on the way back."
I saw he was in a mood for sweeping aside all difficulties and said no more. But later I had a new thought for him. "James," I said, "I should mention that little matter—about the three weeks' leave and the cloakroom at the frontier station and all that—to your Colonel soon, if I were you. He'll be busy out there, I dare say, and there will be no time for explanations. If you've prepared the ground, things will go smoother. You'll simply say, 'You remember you said you'd give me three weeks' leave on this date, Sir,' and he'll say, 'All right,' and go on with the battle, and you'll march off. Only," I added, "let me be there, James, when you make your original request."