"Well, I don't think their intelligence is likely to help them now," said Dennis. "We've got the beggars set. We've proved that, man to man, our fellows are miles better than the enemy, and it's only a matter of time. Whatever we take now, we retain—no falling back as in the old days. And, by Jove, mater, you should just hear our artillery!"
"I hear it every day, sleeping and waking," said his mother, putting her hands to her ears. "And oh, how I wish your dear father had been with you! He hasn't had a day's leave since the war started."
"And I'm afraid he isn't likely to put in for one," said Bob. "The Governor's great idea is to stick to his job. He's made our brigade one of the finest in the Army, and they just worship him out there."
How the time flew!—faster even than the week's kit leave that had brought Dennis home before—and though Bob still walked with a slight halt, his leg was getting better every day; while Dennis openly declared that it was simply absurd to have given him leave at all.
"Look here, old chap," said the Captain on Monday, "I'm going up to the War Office to-day to report myself fit and receive my orders about taking that draft over. Of course, it's delightful to be at home again, but there's no earthly reason why we should put in our full leave and feel that we're slacking."
"Right-o!" responded Dennis promptly, "I want to buy one or two things to take over, and I'll come into town with you."
Mrs. Dashwood's heart beat quicker, but she made no attempt to stand in their way, feeling secretly proud of their eagerness, and the two brothers parted outside the Strand Tube, having arranged to meet at a certain well-known restaurant at a given time. It was easier to get into the War Office than to get out of it, and Dennis, his own mission accomplished, was cooling his heels outside the appointed rendezvous when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"I thought I couldn't be mistaken, Dashwood," cried a cheery voice.
"What, Wetherby, old chap!" And Dennis looked at the badge on the brand-new uniform of the lad who had accosted him. "Great Scott! Have they sent you to ours?" And his old schoolfellow grinned delightedly.
"Yes, I've just been getting my things. Left the O.T.C. last week—join the reserve battalion to-morrow."