'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'There is something I want to ask you, John--How long do
you think the war is likely to last?' Her John resumes his paper.
'Rogie, I know you will laugh at me, but there are some things that I
could not help getting for you.'
ROGER. 'You know, you have knitted enough things already to fit up my
whole platoon.'
MRS. TORRANCE, proud almost to tears, 'His platoon.'
EMMA. 'Have you noticed how fine all the words in -oon are? Platoon!
Dragoon!'
MR. TORRANCE. 'Spitoon!'
EMMA. 'Colonel is good, but rather papaish; Major is nosey; Admiral of
the Fleet is scrumptious, but Marechal de France--that is the best of
all.'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'I think there is nothing so nice as 2nd Lieutenant.'
Gulping, 'Lot of little boys.'
ROGER. 'Mater!'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'I mean, just think of their cold feet.' She produces
many parcels and displays their strange contents. 'Those are for putting
inside your socks. Those are for outside your socks. I am told that it
is also advisable to have straw in your boots.'
MR. TORRANCE. 'Have you got him some straw?'
MRS.
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