One Young Soldier, Who Was Trying To Eat A Plate Of Soup Near Us, I
Felt Quite Sorry For.
Every time he got the spoon near his mouth an
officer invariably hove in view, and down would have to go the
spoon, soup and all, and up he would have to rise.
It never seemed
to occur to the silly fellow to get under the table and finish his
dinner there.
We had half-an-hour to spare between dinner and the starting of our
train, and B. suggested that we should go into the cathedral. That
is B.'s one weakness, churches. I have the greatest difficulty in
getting him past a church-door. We are walking along a street, arm
in arm, talking as rationally and even as virtuously as need be,
when all at once I find that B. has become silent and abstracted.
I know what it is; he has caught sight of a church. I pretend not
to notice any change in him, and endeavour to hurry him on. He lags
more and more behind, however, and at last stops altogether.
"Come, come," I say to him, encouragingly, "pull yourself together,
and be a man. Don't think about it. Put it behind you, and
determine that you WON'T be conquered. Come, we shall be round the
corner in another minute, where you won't be able to see it. Take
my hand, and let's run!"
He makes a few feeble steps forward with me, and then stops again.
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