"That's all right," said Mitchell. He tapped the tent pole.

"Come in," said Alf. Alf was lying on his bunk as before, with his arms
under his head. His face wore a cheerful, not to say happy, expression.
There was no one else in the tent. I was never more surprised in my life.

"Have you got the paper, Alf?" said Mitchell.

"Yes. You'll find it there at the foot of the bunk. There it is.
Won't you sit down, Mitchell?"

"Not to-night," said Mitchell. "We brought you a bottle of ale.
We're just going to turn in."

And we said "good-night". "Well," I said to Mitchell when we got inside,
"what do you think of it?"

"I don't think of it at all," said Mitchell. "Do you mean to say
you can't see it now?"

"No, I'm dashed if I can," I said. "Some of us must be drunk, I think,
or getting rats. It's not to be wondered at, and the sooner
we get out of this country the better."

"Well, you must be a fool, Joe," said Mitchell. "Can't you see?
ALF THINKS ALOUD."

"WHAT?"

"Talks to himself. He was thinking about going back to his sweetheart.