No wonder that his pathetic brown eyes always appeared
full of tears. However, he followed Cockerell down the street, and
meekly embarked upon a contest with the lady Inhabitants thereof, in
which he was hopelessly outmatched from the start.
At the first door a dame of massive proportions, but keen business
instincts, announced her total inability to accommodate _soldats_, but
explained that she would be pleased to entertain _officiers_ to any
number. This is a common gambit. Twenty British privates in your
_grenier_, though extraordinarily well-behaved as a class, make a good
deal of noise, buy little, and leave mud everywhere. On the other
hand, two or three officers give no trouble, and can be relied upon to
consume and pay for unlimited omelettes and bowls of coffee.
That seasoned vessel, Lieutenant Cockerell, turned promptly to the
Sergeant and Corporal of "C" Company.
"Sergeant M'Nab," he said, "you and Corporal Downie will billet here."
He introduced hostess and guests by an expressive wave of the hand.
But shrewd Madame was not to be bluffed.
"_Pas de sergents, Monsieur le Capitaine!_" she exclaimed.
"_Officiers!_"
"_Ils sont officiers--sous-officiers_," explained Cockerell, rather
ingeniously, and moved off down the street.
At the next house the owner--a small, wizened lady of negligible
physique but great staying power--entered upon a duet with Alphonso,
which soon reduced that very moderate performer to breathlessness.
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