Bobby winced.
"Yes," he said, "if Billy goes, Billy won't come back. I know Billy."
A few yards down the street the Colonel met Alf Caspar in the stream of ascending church-goers.
The little sidesman was dapper as usual: he wore a fawn coloured waist-coat, his moustache was waxed, his hair well-oiled; but his face was almost comically a-wry. He looked like the villain in a picture play about to burst into tears. Directly he saw the Colonel he roused to new and hectic life, crossing to him, entirely forgetful of their meeting on the previous evening.
"Is it war, sir?" he asked feverishly and with flickering eyes.
"If we are ever to hold up our heads and look the world in the face again," the Colonel answered.
"But what's it got to do with us?" Alf almost screamed. "Let em fight it out among themselves if they want to, I says. Stand aside—that's our part. That's the manly part. And then when it's all over slip in—"
"And collar the loot," suggested the Colonel.
"And arbitrate atween em. If we don't there'll be nobody to do it, only us. I don't say it'll be easy to make the sacrifice o standing aside when you want to help your friends, of course you do. But I say we ought to do it, and let em say what they like—if it's right and it is right. Take up the cross and face the shame—that's what I says. Where's the good o being Christians else, if you're going to throw it all overboard first time you're put to the test? We won't be the first, I says. What about the martyrs and them? Didn't they go through it? Not to talk o the expense! Can we afford it? Course we can't. Who could? Income tax at a shilling in the pound, and my petrol costing me another six-pence the can. And then ask us to sit down to a great war!"
He poured out his arguments as a volcano in eruption pours out lava.