Page:War's dark frame (IA warsdarkframe00camp).pdf/128

102 The famous neutral novelist had large and dreamy eyes. More than once I had questioned if he fully understood the conditions arid which he walked. He wore a long black cloak, buttoned to the throat. It had been warm work coming through the communication line, and now at the top of the steps he unbuttoned his cloak, throwing the flaps over his shoulders. A group of soldiers near by scattered, laughing silently. Our conductors started, gave the familiar renunciatory shrug, then continued with an air of hesitation. The flaps of the famous novelist's cloak were lined with vividest scarlet.

It was convenient to let him trudge ahead with the hospitable captain. As we passed, sentinels snickered behind their hands and edged away.

"Why don't you tell him to take it off?" I asked the staff man.

"He's too distinguished," the officer replied. "I'll guarantee the captain will make him walk low through the sap."

We watched the captain motion to the novelist, then stoop and disappear. As we came up we saw the opening of a narrow sap that led at right angles from the main trench into No-Man's Land. Ahead the scarlet cloak led the way. We followed at a discreet distance.

Soldiers have written and talked a good deal