My brain collapsed in the strain after comparisons,
abandoned the effort and drank in a draught of rich, ripe American slang
as a glorious pick-me-up. No wonder the French officers in _liaison_
have caught the new "code." The coming of those brown boys with their
bright and glittering teeth and witty words made up to us for miles of
trenches we hadn't seen. Gee, but they were bully! Oh, _boy_! Get hep to
that!
CHAPTER XVII
Father Beckett must have suffered dark hours of reaction after seeing
those soldier-sons of American fathers, if there had been time to think.
But we flashed back to Nancy in haste, for a late dinner and adieux to
our friends. Brian and I snatched the story of our day's adventure from
his mouth for Mother Beckett; and luckily he was too tired to give her a
new version. I heard in the morning that he had slept through an air
raid!
I, too, was tired, and for the same reason: but I could not sleep.
Waking dreams marched through my mind--dreams of Jim as he must have
looked in khaki, dreams which made an air raid more or less seem
unimportant. As the clocks of Nancy told the hours, I was in a mood for
the first time since Gerbeviller to puzzle out the meaning of Paul
Herter's parable.
What had he meant by saying that his mission would be no more dangerous
than a rat-trap for a bit of toasted cheese?
I had exclaimed, "That sounds as if you were to bait the trap!" but he
had not encouraged me to guess.
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