"What can you give me, sir?"
"Two divisions only. Your own, and any other you like, bar Fellowes' lot."
Roy thought for a moment.
"I'd like the Yorkshire men, sir, they're friends of my men."
"You shall have them. You'll start from here at eight to-night, moving by the west road. Shove on as hard as you can till you meet Michael. Then take up a position and fight him till you've not a man left. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to interfere with me. Send back word now and again to let me know how it goes."
"That all, sir?"
"That's all, except to say good-bye. Perhaps meet you later in the brimstone duck-pond." Roy went out with a light in his dark eyes, leaving Hector considering.
"Thank God for a lunatic," he muttered, "stroke of luck for me striking him. Now, what will I do to pass the time? Ah, I know. Godwin."
"You called, sir?" answered the long-nosed one, appearing.
"Which is the worst division, the absolute bloodiest bloody?"