Graeme Jakes surveyed the grubby folds of lint and the maimed fingers of his left hand. For the first time the shadow of a smile played about his mouth.
"Yep. Long time ago. Nothin' much, only it wouldn't heal. Went bad on me. Bit of poison gas shell."
"Oh," said the boy, and contemplated his new acquaintance with renewed interest.
"Are you Army or Navy?"
The man slid a cartridge into his rifle, closed the bolt and raised the weapon to his shoulder, resting his left elbow on his knee. A sharp report followed the instant's silence; the scut of a rabbit flicked white on the opposite slope and vanished.
"Missed him!" ejaculated the sniper. "Generally do."
He lowered the toy on to his knees again. "Navy," he continued as if nothing had interrupted the conversation.
"Daddy's in the Navy too," exclaimed the boy. "Do you know him?—he's an Admiral."
"Know him by name. Don't bump up against Admirals much."
"I wish I was old enough to be in the Navy," sighed Cornelius James. "It's awful not being able to do anything in this war. Even Miss Mayne is going to do war work soon. She says every woman ought to do something."