“Of course. And then what?”

“Get drunk,” says Albert.

“Don’t talk rot, I mean seriously⁠—”

“So do I,” says Kropp, “what else should a man do?”

Kat becomes interested. He levies tribute on Kropp’s tin of beans, swallows some, then considers for a while and says: “You might get drunk first, of course, but then you’d take the next train for home and mother. Peacetime, man, Albert⁠—”

He fumbles in his oilcloth pocketbook for a photograph and suddenly shows it all round. “My old woman!” Then he puts it back and swears: “Damned lousy war⁠—”

“It’s all very well for you to talk,” I tell him. “You’ve a wife and children.”

“True,” he nods, “and I have to see to it that they’ve something to eat.”