While we were dreaming of this romance of war, and of the coming romance
of our own tour, a little man dumped himself at our table, explained
that he had a pain in his kidneys, and started an interminable story
about his wife and a dog. He was Jan's devoted admirer, and declared
that Jan had performed a successful operation upon him, though Jan is no
surgeon, and had never set eyes upon the man before.

Georgevitch rescued us. Georgevitch was fat, tall, young and genial, and
was military storekeeper at Vrntze. He was an ideal storekeeper and
looked the part, but he had been a comitaj. He had roamed the country
with belts full of bombs and holsters full of pistols, he and 189
others, with two loaves of bread per man and then "Ever Forwards." Of
the 189 others only 22 were left, and one was a patient at our hospital
where we called him the "Velika Dete" or "big child," because of his
sensibility. With Georgevitch was a dark woman with keen sparkling eyes.
Alone, this woman had run the typhus barracks in Vrntze until the
arrival of the English missions. She was a Montenegrin; no Serbian woman
could be found courageous enough to undertake the task. After struggling
all the winter, she was taken ill about a fortnight after the arrival of
the English. The Red Cross Mission took care of her and she recovered.

We left our bore still talking about his wife and the dog, and fled to
their table, where we chatted till our train arrived. We found a
coupé--a carriage with only one long seat--the exigencies of which
compelled Jan to be all night with Jo's boots on his face, and we so
slept as well as we were able.

[Illustration]