"Oh, well, I suppose we'd best herd these perishers home to kennels while they're still too weak to protest. Come on."
"And in the meanwhile the festive lapin breeds and breeds," said Albert Edward.
XXXI
THE HARRIERS (II)
Albert Edward and I were seated on a log outside the hen-house which kennelled our pack when we perceived Algy, the A.D.C., tripping daintily towards us. Albert Edward blew a kiss. "Afternoon, Algy. How chit he looks in his pink and all! Tell me, do people ever mistake you for a cinema attendant and give you pennies?"
"Afternoon, Algy," said I. "Been spending a strenuous morn carrying the old man's respirator—with his lunch inside?"
For answer Algy tipped me backwards off the log, and sitting down in my place, contemplated our hounds for some seconds.
"And are these the notorious Hare-'em Scare-'ems?" he inquired.
I nodded. "Yessir; absolutely the one and only pack of harriers operating in the war zone. Guaranteed gun-broke, shell-shocked, shrapnel-pitted and bullet-bitten."
Algy sniffed. "What's that big brute over in the corner, he of the crumpled face and barbed smile? Looks like a bloodhound."