towels, tooth paste, tooth-brushes, toilet paper, kimonos, and underneath all these, unexpectedly, letters from their wives. All the men tried to get from these things a sniff of their homes. They sought for the milky smell of children or the strong fleshy smell of their wives.
Those sailors and fishermen who had received nothing mooned around with their hands stuck in their trouser pockets. Everyone teased them, saying, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t called in some other fellow to keep her company while you’re away.”
With his face buried in a dark corner, heedless of the others’ noisy clatter, one man stood counting over and over again on his fingers. He had received news of his child’s death. The child had died two months ago, but he had received no word till now. The letter said that there had been no money for a wireless.
On the other hand there was just an opposite case. In another letter was a photograph of a baby, podgy like a young octopus.
“This, mine!” laughed the father in a funny voice. Then, with a grin on his face, he paraded it round, saying, “What d’ye think of it? They say this has arrived.”
In their parcels were trivial little things, but things which only the careful forethought of a wife remembers. At the sight of them their hearts began to beat strangely, and they felt a strange longing to be home.
On the transport had come a party of movie men sent by the company. It was arranged to have a
