But we'll do that smiling, too; C'est la guerre.

Yours always and ever, CON.




XXXVIII

January 6th, 1917.

MY DEAR ONES:

I have just seen a brother officer aboard the ex-London bus en route for
Blighty. How I wished I could have stepped on board that ex-London
perambulator to-night! "Pickerdilly Cirkuss, 'Ighbury, 'Ighgate, Welsh
'Arp--all the wye." O my, what a time I'll have when I meet you! I shall
feel as though if anything happens to me after my return you'll be able
to understand so much more bravely. These blinkered letters, with only
writing and no touch of live hands, convey so little. When we've had a
good time together and sat round the fire and talked interminably you'll
be able to read so much more between the lines of my future letters.
To-morrow you ought to land in England, and to-morrow night you should
sleep in London. I am trying to swop my leave with another man,
otherwise it won't come till the 15th. I am looking forward every hour
to those miraculous nine days which we are to have together. You can't
imagine with your vividest imagination the contrast between nine days
with you in London and my days where I am now. A battalion went by
yesterday, marching into action, and its band was playing I've a
Sneakin' Feelin' in My Heart That I Want to Settle Down. We all have