“It takes all sorts of men to make a war. Perhaps if we are no good now we may be when the fighting comes along.”
I was rather attracted by this quiet, modest little statement made by Maurice Stair.
Every one walked home with every one else as usual, and discussed what they should do the next day to kill time. In the absence of any authority some bold spirits reverted to the moonlight-picnic plan for the next evening, but a man said decidedly:
“No good! Kim has got down some inside information from headquarters, and won’t let the horses a mile away from the town.”
An important resolution that we should all meet at the tennis-court the following afternoon was passed, and my sister-in-law was invited to invite every one to supper and cards in the evening.
“Oh, very well,” said she, swathed in languor as usual. “But I’ve no genius for entertainment. You’ll have to fish for your supper.”
“All right, we will,” they blithely cried, and announced to me, “You can bank on us, Miss Saurin. We’ll be there.”
I did not doubt the fact, but it failed to interest me. I, too, was wrapped in weariness. Life in Africa seemed to me to be inconceivably petty.