They Came to Baghdad Read Free Page B

frankly at him and the young man responded like a marionette when you pull the string.
    â€œHallo,” said the young man. “Nice place this. Do you often come here?”
    â€œNearly every day.”
    â€œJust my luck that I never came here before. Was that your lunch you were eating?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t think you eat enough. I’d be starving if I only had two sandwiches. What about coming along and having a sausage at the SPO in Tottenham Court Road?”
    â€œNo thanks. I’m quite all right. I couldn’t eat anymore now.”
    She rather expected that he would say: “Another day,” but he did not. He merely sighed—then he said:
    â€œMy name’s Edward, what’s yours?”
    â€œVictoria.”
    â€œWhy did your people want to call you after a railway station?”
    â€œVictoria isn’t only a railway station,” Miss Jones pointed out. “There’s Queen Victoria as well.”
    â€œMm yes. What’s your other name?”
    â€œJones.”
    â€œVictoria Jones,” said Edward, trying it over on his tongue. He shook his head. “They don’t go together.”
    â€œYou’re quite right,” said Victoria with feeling. “If I were Jenny it would be rather nice—Jenny Jones. But Victoria needs something with a bit more class to it. Victoria Sackville-West for instance. That’s the kind of thing one needs. Something to roll round the mouth.”
    â€œYou could tack something on to the Jones,” said Edward with sympathetic interest.
    â€œBedford Jones.”
    â€œCarisbrooke Jones.”
    â€œSt. Clair Jones.”
    â€œLonsdale Jones.”
    This agreeable game was interrupted by Edward’s glancing at his watch and uttering a horrified ejaculation.
    â€œI must tear back to my blinking boss—er—what about you?”
    â€œI’m out of a job. I was sacked this morning.”
    â€œOh I say, I am sorry,” said Edward with real concern.
    â€œWell, don’t waste sympathy, because I’m not sorry at all. For one thing, I’ll easily get another job, and besides that, it was really rather fun.”
    And delaying Edward’s return to duty still further, she gave him a spirited rendering of this morning’s scene, reenacting her impersonation of Mrs. Greenholtz to Edward’s immense enjoyment.
    â€œYou really are marvellous, Victoria,” he said. “You ought to be on the stage.”
    Victoria accepted this tribute with a gratified smile and remarked that Edward had better be running along if he didn’t want to get the sack himself.
    â€œYes—and I shouldn’t get another job as easily as you will. It must be wonderful to be a good shorthand typist,” said Edward with envy in his voice.
    â€œWell, actually I’m not a good shorthand typist,” Victoria admitted frankly, “but fortunately even the lousiest of shorthand typists can get some sort of a job nowadays—at any rate an educational or charitable one—they can’t afford to pay much and so they get people like me. I prefer the learned type of job best. These scientific names and terms are so frightful anyway that if you can’t spell them properly it doesn’t really shame you because nobody could. What’s your job? I suppose you’re out of one of the services. RAF?”
    â€œGood guess.”
    â€œFighter pilot?”
    â€œRight again. They’re awfully decent about getting us jobs and all that, but you see, the trouble is, that we’re not particularly brainy. I mean one didn’t need to be brainy in the RAF. They put me in an office with a lot of files and figures and some thinking to do and I just folded up. The whole thing seemed utterly purposeless anyway. But there it is. It gets you down a bit to know that you’re absolutely no good.”
    Victoria nodded sympathetically—Edward went on