The three of them burst through the bed room door, all grins, and took turns pumping with Jeremy's right arm--glad to see him--proud to know him--pleased to see him looking fit and well, and all that kind of thing.

Even men who had fought all through the war had forgotten some of its red tape by that time, and Jeremy not being in uniform they treated him like a fellow human being.

And he reciprocated, Australian fashion, free and easy, throwing up his long legs on my bed and yelling for somebody to bring drinks for the crowd, while they showered questions on him.
It wasn't until Jeremy turned the tables and began to question them that the first cloud showed itself.
"Say, old top," he demanded of a man who wore the crossed swords of a brigadier.

"Grim tells me I'm a trooper.

When can I get my discharge ?" The effect was instantaneous.