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Fritz does not like anything new; for example, they appealed to the world against our brutality in using "tanks." Christmas Day, 1916, one of our aviators, with total disregard of the rules of war, dropped a football on which was painted "A Merry Xmas" into a French town infested by Germans.
Such an existence proved very charming to all parties concerned, excepting perhaps the Miss Dexters, and their companion in misery, at the rectory. For the worst of it was, Xmas passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned for the pretty little village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still there. They never spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them.
Even the magnificent be-medalled porter at the door emerged from the carved teak box where he dwelt and touching his cap asked if he should call a cab. "No, thank you, Sergeant," answered Alan, "I will take a bus, and, Sergeant, I think I forgot to give you a present last Xmas. Will you accept this? I wish I could make it more," and he presented him with ten shillings.
And he replied by saying that she was big enough allready, which hurt because Jane is plump and will eat starches anyhow. Tommy Gray had improved a great deal since Xmas. He had at that time apeared to long for his head. I said this to Jane, SOTO VOCE, while he was looking at some neckties in a window. "Well, his head is big enough now," she said in a snapish maner.
Anyhow, negotiations hung fire, for Carville has D'Aubigné quite under his influence, and nothing could be done with the aeroplane or the patents until these two came in somehow. The rival newspapers go it blind, and sling all sorts of journalistic mud about. I won't bore you with it in a Xmas letter. What I was going to say was about Carville himself.
The date was a week before St. Vincent. The fly-leaf turned. On the back of it, in the great vague hand of a peasant-woman, rheumatic-ridden, bili from mother Xmas 1755 be a good boy. Kit read the inscription with full throat.
So leaving my poor old machine, we proceeded to the village headquarters. Photographers appeared from nowhere and I was twice "snapped" on the way, though I'm afraid I did not act up to the usual request, "look pleasant." On arriving at a small house I was received by a German general, who looked rather like an Xmas tree, the Iron Crosses were so numerous.
DEAR PLAYMATE, You said on our tramp that I would make a good playmate, but I'm sure that I should be a very poor one if I did not wish you a gloriously merry Xmas & a New Year that will bring you all the dear things you want. But if by any chance you are in town, won't you make your playmate's shout to you from her back yard a part of your Xmas?
I was wearing them, for fear the door-bell would ring, and a Letter or flowers would arrive from H. In that case I felt quite sure that someone, in a frenzy, would burn the Pearls also. The afternoon was terrable. It rained solid sheets, and Patrick, the butler, gave notice three hours after he had recieved his Xmas presents, on account of not being let off for early mass.
"And is it all alone you are, on Xmas Night!" he burbled. "Yes," I replied, bitterly. "I am old enough to be married off without my consent, but I am not old enough for a real Ball. It makes me sick." "I can smuggle him here, if you want to talk to him." "Smuggle!" I said, with scorn. "There is no need to smuggle him. The Familey is crazy about him. They are flinging me at him."
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