O'Flaherty sits on the garden seat. The thrush begins to sing
melodiously. O'Flaherty cocks his ears, and looks up at it. A
smile spreads over his troubled features. Sir Pearce, with a long
sigh, takes out his pipe and begins to fill it.

O'FLAHERTY [idyllically]. What a discontented sort of an animal a
man is, sir! Only a month ago, I was in the quiet of the country
out at the front, with not a sound except the birds and the
bellow of a cow in the distance as it might be, and the shrapnel
making little clouds in the heavens, and the shells whistling,
and maybe a yell or two when one of us was hit; and would you
believe it, sir, I complained of the noise and wanted to have a
peaceful hour at home. Well: them two has taught me a lesson.
This morning, sir, when I was telling the boys here how I was
longing to be back taking my part for king and country with the
others, I was lying, as you well knew, sir. Now I can go and say
it with a clear conscience. Some likes war's alarums; and some
likes home life. I've tried both, sir; and I'm for war's alarums
now. I always was a quiet lad by natural disposition.

SIR PEARCE. Strictly between ourselves, O'Flaherty, and as one
soldier to another [O'Flaherty salutes, but without stiffening],
do you think we should have got an army without conscription if
domestic life had been as happy as people say it is?

O'FLAHERTY. Well, between you and me and the wall, Sir Pearce, I
think the less we say about that until the war's over, the
better.

He winks at the General. The General strikes a match. The thrush