He makes the men comfortable. He
always knows just what they're wanting for tea or for supper, and
the games always go well when Brother Anselm presides, much better
than they do when I'm in charge! I think perhaps that's because I
play myself, and want to win. It infects the others. And yet we
ought to want to win a game--otherwise it's not worth playing.
Also, I must admit that there's usually a row in the billiard room
on my nights on duty. Brother Anselm makes them talk better than I
do, and I don't think he's a bit interested in their South African
experiences. I am, and they won't say a word about them to me. I've
been here a month now, so they ought to be used to me by this time.
We've just heard that the guest-house for soldiers at the Abbey
will be finished by the middle of next month, so we're already
discussing our Christmas party. The Priory, which sounds so grand
and gothic, is really the corner house of a most depressing row of
suburban villas, called Glenview and that sort of thing. The last
tenant was a traveller in tea and had a stable instead of the usual
back-garden. This we have converted into a billiard room. An
officer in one of the regiments quartered here told us that it was
the only thing in Aldershot we had converted.
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