“Not here. In my room.”
Old Hermann Marcus looked up with a queer gleam in his eyes, as Richard and Ferdie entered. Almost as though he were sorry for the boy—and yet secretly and maliciously triumphant.
“How are you getting on at Winborough?” Ferdinand asked jerkily, after a pause.
“Same as usual: excellent all-round ability, but no outstanding merit, as old Skeffington says. I say, dad, would you have any objection if I joined up next year already?” since his father had seemingly nothing of any importance to impart, Richard thought he might as well use the formal interview for his own purpose.
“Joined up what?”
“The army, of course. Royal Flying Corps, for choice; I’m fit enough to stand the medical test. And lots of fellows are passing themselves off as older than their age. Only I’m not very tall ...” his tone implied reproach for his father’s lack of inches. There was silence for a moment; he felt the two men were not attending to his request as they should; so he went on in further explanation: “It’s so rotten to be just under age for enlisting. Different if you’re a kid, and out of it altogether. Rogers—you remember him? he was head boy at Winborough—Rogers is only eighteen months older than I am, and he’s in the thick of it. And to-day more than ever——” he stopped dead.
“Why to-day more than ever?” Ferdinand enquired, very gently.
Richard was not quite sure why: except that to-day he had expended a lot of heat and energy on a cause which had repaid him neither in vigorous defence nor in ultimate satisfaction; and he wanted an experience of real, substantial war and real, substantial Germans to make up for the futile civilian imitation. But he was unwilling to explain all this about Germans in front of his grandfather, or even to his father, who might be subject to occasional sensitive twinges on that score. So he swerved from the direct question:
“Quite frankly, dad, I mean to enlist next year, with or without permission. But I thought I’d like to hear if you have any special objection; good of me, isn’t it?” laughing.
“Certainly I should be proud and glad if you could fight for England, but——” Ferdie evidently found an increasing difficulty in going on. He took up an evening paper from the table: “Have you seen the late editions, Richard?”