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“Where’s he got to go?” asked Stringham.

“G Mess. That’s not too far from here.”

“Can we carry him feet first?”

“Not a very tempting prospect in the blackout. Can’t we wake him up and force him to walk? Everyone must realise they have to make a special effort in wartime. Why should Bithel be absolved from that?”

“How severe you always are to human weakness, Nick.”

We shook Bithel, who was again showing slight signs of revival, at least in so much that protests were wrong from him by this rough treatment.

“… Don’t shake us, old man … don’t shake us like that … whatever are you doing it for? … makes me feel awful… I’ll throw up … I will really …”

“Bith, you’ve got to pull yourself together, get back to your billet.”

“What’s that you’re saying …”

“Can you stand up? If so, we’ll hold you on either side.”

“… Can’t remember your name, old man … didn’t see you in that last pub … couldn’t see any officers there … rather glad of that . . prefer talking to those young fellows without a lot of majors poking their noses in … keep in touch with the men … never go far wrong if you do that … take an interest in them off duty … then it got late … couldn’t find the way home…”

“It is late, Bith. That’s why we’ve got to take you back to bed. It’s Nick Jenkins. We’re going to pilot you to G Mess.”

“Nick Jenkins … in the Regiment together… Do you remember … Mr. Vice – the Loyal Toast … then, you …”

“That’s it.”

“The King …”

Bithel shouted the words, turning on one elbow and making as if to raise a glass in the air.

“The King, Bith.”

“Loved the old Regiment… Give you The Regiment … no heelers… Age shall not … something … nor the years condemn …”

“Come on, Bith, make an effort.”

“… at the going down of the sun … that’s it… we shall remember them…”

He suddenly began to sing in a thin piping voice, not unlike Max Pilgrim’s.

“Fol-low, fol-low, we will fol-low Davies –

We will follow Davies, everywhere he leads…”

“Bith.”

“Remember how we went romping all over the house that Christmas night after dinner … when the Mess was in those former bank premises … trailing along behind Colonel Davies … under the tables … over the chairs … couldn’t do it this moment for five pounds … God, I do really believe I’m going to throw up…”

We got him to his feet with a tremendous heave. This sudden change of posture was too much for Bithel, who had rightly judged his own digestive condition. After much vomiting, he seemed appreciably more sober. We had allowed him to sink on all fours to the ground while relieving his stomach. Now we raised him again on his feet to prepare for the journey back to G Mess.

“If you can walk, Bith, we’ll take you home now. Stringham, one of your own chaps, is here to help.”

“String …”

“Here, sir,” said Stringham, who had begun to laugh a lot. “Stringham of the Mobile Laundry, present and correct.”

The name, coupled with that of his command, faintly animated Bithel. Perhaps it suggested to him the title of one of those adventure stories he had enjoyed as a boy; certainly the picaresque operation of a Mobile Laundry would have made an enthralling Henty volume.

“That ’varsity man the D.A.A.G. sent to me?”

“That’s the one, sir.”

“Only good turn Major Widmerpool’s ever done me…”

Stringham was now laughing so much we had to lower Bithel to the ground again.

“I know just how you’re feeling, sir,” said Stringham. “Nobody better.”

“Stringham’s a ’varsity man, like yourself, Nick … Did you know that? … good type … got some fine boys in the Laundry … proud to command them … Sergeant Ablett … splendid type… You should hear him sing The Man who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo … brings back the old music halls … but Stringham’s the only ’varsity man …”

The access of emotion that had now descended on Bithel was in danger of changing once more to stupor. He began to breathe heavily. We tried to lift him again from the pavement.

“One of the things I like about him,” said Stringham, “is the fact there’s