window frame, his eyes on the incoming fleet, voiced the chronic nostalgia of the man in the service.
"The town for me!" Woodhouse exclaimed with fervor. "I'm sick for the sight of her—the sounds of her—the smells of her: the orange peel and the asphalt and the gas coming in over Vauxhall Bridge."
Bishop turned on him admiringly.
"By George, that does hit it off, old man—no mistake!"
Jane was out on the balcony now with field glasses she had picked up from the governor's desk. She called back through the curtains, summoning Woodhouse to come and pick out for her the flagship. When he had joined her. Bishop stepped quickly to his superior's side.
"What do you think, General? By George, it seems to me it would need an Englishman to give one that sniff of London this chap just got off."
"Exactly," the general caught him up crisply. "And an Englishman's done it—Rudyard Kipling. Any German who can read English can read Kipling."
