Fortunately he is not
made of stone. He thrills.
'My word! That's the dodge we need in the trenches.'
'That's your bed, Kenneth.'
'Mine?' He grins at her. 'You queer old divert. What can make you so
keen to be burdened by a lump like me?'
'He! he! he! he!'
'I tell you, I'm the commonest kind of man.'
'I'm just the commonest kind of old wifie myself.'
'I've been a kick-about all my life, and I'm no great shakes at the
war.'
'Yes, you are. How many Germans have you killed?'
'Just two for certain, and there was no glory in it. It was just because
they wanted my shirt.'
'Your shirt?'
'Well, they said it was their shirt.'
'Have you took prisoners?'
'I once took half a dozen, but that was a poor affair too.'
'How could one man take half a dozen?'
'Just in the usual way. I surrounded them.'
'Kenneth, you're just my ideal.'
'You're easily pleased.'
He turns again to the bed, 'Let's see how the thing works.' He kneads
the mattress with his fist, and the result is so satisfactory that he
puts down his kit.
'Old lady, if you really want me, I'll bide.
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