_December 20._

Have you had any of the letters in which I told you how the place we
were to have been sent to was too continuously strafed? And how we were
sent to this very quiet and unwrecked place? And how I've got a bed, and
how happy the horses are?

About the intelligence job. Things are hanging fire rather, as the Staff
Major, who may ask for me to come away with him to another corps, is now
attached to this corps. So what will be the end of it I don't know.

Frankly, I am sore tempted for this reason, that I think I could do it
rather well. Of course, each corps does things differently, but, judging
from the way in which this corps likes the job done, I feel certain I
could tackle it in another corps. That's boasting. But you understand
so perfectly. It would be glorious to be doing something really well.

[Sidenote: A STAFF JOB]

I _can't_ be an ordinary soldier. Too absent-minded--hopelessly vague
and careless. I live on tenter-hooks always. What detail have I
forgotten? What order did I give that could be taken two ways?

It's sad for Pat that his friends are gone. I feel so murky when mine
go, that I understand what it must be for him. But friends or no
friends, broken-hearted or whole, we must damned well carry on! And
that's all about it.

A perfect letter from old Norman to-day. He must be quite useless as a