Passing shadowy in the faint lights were soldiers;
soldiers crouched in heaps in the dark corners of the station; yet more
soldiers and soldiers again huddled in great square box trucks or open
waggons waiting patiently for the train which was four or five hours
late. There were women with them, wives or sisters or daughters, with
great heavy knapsacks and stolid unexpressive faces.
While we were dreaming of this romance of war, and of the coming romance
of our own tour, a little man dumped himself at our table, explained
that he had a pain in his kidneys, and started an interminable story
about his wife and a dog. He was Jan's devoted admirer, and declared
that Jan had performed a successful operation upon him, though Jan is no
surgeon, and had never set eyes upon the man before.
Georgevitch rescued us. Georgevitch was fat, tall, young and genial, and
was military storekeeper at Vrntze. He was an ideal storekeeper and
looked the part, but he had been a comitaj. He had roamed the country
with belts full of bombs and holsters full of pistols, he and 189
others, with two loaves of bread per man and then "Ever Forwards.
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